


Thirteen Days

by LindaO



Series: The Romanov Stories [11]
Category: The Equalizer
Genre: F/M, Gen, In less than two weeks, Mostly Gen, Scott's getting married, Some Romance, references to non-con, some strong language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 82,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindaO/pseuds/LindaO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Scott McCall decides to get married, it is of course no ordinary event.  It will take all of Robert's skills, resources, and friends to make it happen in just thirteen days. </p><p>Author's note:  This story stands alone, but is a continuation of my EQ-verse stories. In the timeline, it follows "It's All Fun & Games."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day Thirteen (Monday)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Kate for French translation and to Sue for beading expertise, to Sherry for her advice and background on Kay and Scott, to Anna for catching numerous typos, and as always to Paige, for excellence in beta-reading and for endless input and patience. 
> 
> All Equalizer characters belong to Universal, no matter how much we fear they'll abuse them in the upcoming movie. I'm borrowing them for entertainment purposes; no infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

Scott McCall had lived in the shadow of his father’s career his whole life.            

The van hadn't been behind him for two blocks before he noticed it.  He did not turn around.   Instead, he paused as if something in the shop window had caught his eye and studied the reflection.  Newer, black, full-sized, cargo-type, no windows behind the cab.  Moving too slowly.  He knew instinctively it was coming for him.  He turned away from the window and kept walking.  Hot afternoon, high summer, and the sidewalk was almost empty.  Ten paces to the alley, or maybe the store was better, it had to have a back door, no, the restaurant, crowded, better still … 

The van slid to the curb and stopped.  The driver blew the horn, and against his will, Scott looked back.  One sense told him to run, but another said that if the driver was actually stalking him, he wouldn’t be blowing the horn.  Nor, as Scott waited, rolling down the passenger side window.  He was still a safe ten paces from the van; he could make the restaurant even if they came out the side door.

Unless they shot him from the driver's seat, of course …

"Hey, Scott," Mickey Kostmayer called cheerfully, "how do you get to Carnegie Hall?"

Scott shook his head, releasing the breath he'd held too long, and moved to the side of the van.  "Practice, practice, practice."

"Uh-huh.  And how do you get to be in the orchestra of the major European road company?"

Scott snorted.  "I wish I knew.  When you find out, be sure to tell me."

"Okay.  You get in the van and go audition in Jersey in …" he glanced at his watch "… ninety minutes."

"We’ll never make that."  Scott opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.  "Are you serious?"

"I’m serious.  Buckle up."  The van was moving before he finished speaking.

Scott buckled swiftly.  He'd been in vehicles driven by Kostmayer before.  "We’ll never make it."

"We’ll make it."

"I don’t have my violin with me …"

"Lily's getting it." 

"Lily's … what?"

Mickey gestured to the phone in the console between them.  "Call your dad and tell him I found you. He’s in the Jag."

"He's looking for me, too?"

"We've all been looking for you.  Call him."

Scott picked up the phone.  It took him three tries to dial the number, with the van swerving erratically through traffic.  "Sorry," Mickey said, in a tone that said he was nothing of the sort.

"You like an excuse to drive fast, don't you?"

"Well … yeah."

"Robert McCall," his father barked.

"It’s Scott.  I’m with Mickey."

"He found you.  Good.  We’ve been looking everywhere for you."

"I stopped off for some lunch …" Scott began. 

"Yes, well, you haven’t got much time now.  Do the best you can, Scott, and we’ll talk about it tonight, shall we?"

"Uh … okay."

"Good luck, Scott.  Or break a leg, or whatever it is I should be saying."

Scott grinned.  "Thanks, Dad."

He put the phone down and glanced out the window.  At least the van was cool inside.  Mickey seemed casual behind the wheel, but the van was flying through the city at an insane speed.  They really could get to Jersey in ninety minutes. 

"What am I auditioning for?" he asked.

Kostmayer shook his head.  "I got no idea.  I'm just following orders."

"Orders from my dad?"

"Nope.  From your fairy godmother."

"I didn't know I had one."

Mickey grinned.  "You may wish you didn't, before this is over."

Scott dropped his hand to his leg, and groaned when he felt bare skin.  He was wearing cut-off jeans, his most comfortable, worn white in the back.  His shirt was sweaty, faded, the collar torn off.   "I can’t audition like this."

"Scott," Mickey sighed, "don't worry.  I told you, it's all taken care of."

"But …"

"You'll see." 

"But Mickey …"

"Scott.  Trust us."

"Us," Scott repeated uneasily.

"Uh-huh."

* * *

Four blocks later, Kostmayer slung the van through a much-too-narrow alley and parked at the back door of a small shop.  "C'mon," he said.  Scott followed him to the door.  It was locked, but when Mickey knocked lightly, it opened immediately.  Scott felt the older man's hand on his back, pushing him in first, and then he found himself wrapped in the embrace of the most flamboyant man he had ever met.

"There you are, darlings," the man gushed.  He was, Scott noted, wearing rather more make-up than all the Radio City Rockettes put together. "This way, this way, everything’s ready."  He scooted Scott into the front of the store.  The young man glanced back, assuring himself that Mickey was still with them.  He’d met gay men before – perhaps half his musician friends were gay, and about that percentage of Becky’s culinary friends as well – but this man was way more than just homosexual.  He was visibly flaming.

"Here, here," he flounced at Scott, leading him onto a small dais.  "Stand right there and let me have a look at you."  He dropped back to stand beside Kostmayer.  "Good Lord, he's perfect.  I wouldn’t change a single thing."

Kostmayer folded his hands carefully in front of him.  He looked a little wary of the man, to Scott's eye.  Not shocked, just watchful.  It wasn't particularly reassuring.  "Job interview, Heath," Mickey explained. "Lily says something conservative.  Black."

"Black."  Heath pondered a moment, as Scott grew more and more uncomfortable under his scrutiny.  "He could carry pastels, you know.  Powder blue, maybe mint. Something summery …"

"Lily said black," Mickey repeated firmly.

"Ah, Lily.  Lily has no soul."

The front door of the shop slammed open.  "Lily has several souls," Romanov announced briskly.  "I keep them in jars on my desk.  And if you don't want to be added to my collection, put him in black.  Now.  We’re in a hurry."

"Black.  Huh."  The man flounced off in a huff. 

"Thank God you're here," Mickey breathed.  Scott could see his friend relax.  

Uneasy, Scott stepped off the dais.  "Hi, Lily."

"Hey, Scott.  Glad we caught you."  She squeezed his hand, kissed him on the cheek.  "You get the sit rep?"

"Just the outline," Mickey answered.  "You can fill him in on the next leg."

Lily nodded.  "Thanks, Mickey.  I knew you could track him down for me." 

He shrugged.  "No big.  Needed the practice."

"As if."

"I'm getting _black_ ," Heath announced loudly from the back.  "But can't we at least _try_ pastels?"

"No!" the trio shouted in unison.

Scott unconsciously moved closer to Lily.  "Who is that guy?" he asked.

"That’s Heath," she answered.  "And what he doesn’t know about men’s fashion isn’t worth knowing."

"Please don't leave me alone."

Lily laughed.  "I'm here, sweetie.  Don't worry."

"Your fairy godmother," Mickey supplied.  "I told you."  He looked at Lily.  "You need me, or can I go?"

"You're outta here.  Thank you very much."

"Yeah, thanks, Mickey," Scott added.

"Good luck."  Kostmayer shoved his hands in his back jeans pockets and made his way out.

Heath stomped back in thirty seconds with pants and a polo shirt, in black.  "Here," he said morosely, handing the clothes to Scott.  "Go there, try these on.  They’ll fit wonderfully, of course.  But you must promise to come back and try the pastels sometime, without the ice queen."

Scott nodded uncertainly.  "Okay."  He took the clothes and hurried into the spacious changing booth.

Clothes off the rack never fit him, not since he’d hit that growth spurt at Julliard, but the pants fit perfectly, the hem barely folding at the arch of his foot.  Either Lily had made a damned detailed phone call before they arrived – and it was a little unnerving to think that she’d paid that much attention to his inseam – or Heath really was as good as she said.   He shucked out of his t-shirt and reached for the shirt.  The label said it was pure silk.  It felt almost weightless.

There were no price tags on the clothes.

In the main boutique, he could hear Heath and Lily talking.  It reassured him to know by their voices where the man was.

"I have more ties for the man," Heath said, to Lily.  "You are still the errand girl, aren’t you?"

"Bite me," she answered.

"Here.  This one he ordered, and this one.  But this one …"

"He won’t wear that," Lily said.  "It’s pink."

"It’s salmon.  And these dots here, these blue-almost-gray, they’re just exactly the color of his eyes.  He would look simply ravishing in this."

"He won’t wear it."

The shirt fit perfectly, too.  Scott tucked it in, put on the belt that he’d found on the pants hanger.  He rolled his old clothes tightly, then glanced in dismay at his old sneakers.

"Come on, come on, let’s have it," Heath insisted, tugging the door open.  "Out in the light with you, let’s have a look."

Rolling his eyes, Scott stepped out onto the dais again.  He was certain Heath was going to come tug and adjust him, but the man simply dropped back and stared.  "Holy Mother of God."

"Told you so," Lily said smugly.

"He’s … he’s …"

"Straight," she supplied.  "Find him some shoes.  Leather."

"I bow to your superior judgment."  Heath disappeared again.

Lily tipped a small box towards him, revealing a pink tie with blue dots.  "Can you see Control wearing this?"

"Uh … no," Scott answered honestly.  "I can’t even see Heath wearing that.  And besides, Control wears bow ties."

She shook her head.  "He gave ‘em up."

"Why?"

"Long story."

Heath returned with shoes, black and leather as ordered, and socks.  He gestured Scott to a small stool behind the counter.  "Thirteen wide, right?  Such lovely big … feet."

Scott licked his lips.  "Uh, Lily?"

Lily leaned one elbow on the counter.  "Heath, knock it off.  You're making him nervous."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, I'm just kidding."

"No," Scott protested, "it's not that, it's … it's …" He had one new shoe on, the other frozen in his hand.  "I … could you excuse us for a second?"

"Who, me?" Heath asked.  "Darling, whatever you have to say to her, I've heard it before."

"No, really, please," Scott said.

Heath rolled his eyes extravagantly and moved to the front of the shop. 

"What, babe?" Lily asked.

"These shoes," Scott answered in an urgent whisper.  He gestured with the loose one.  "The price on these …"

Lily shrugged.  "They'll last forever, Scott."

"But I can't afford these.  I never even _saw_ shoes this expensive before …"

"Don't worry about it."

"Lily, I can't …" Suddenly the missing price tags on the clothes seemed ominous as well.  He needed the clothes; he could feel his precious ninety minutes slipping away and there was no time to go anywhere else.  But he could not, could _not_ , let this woman he barely knew spend this much money on him, even if it cost him the audition.  "How much did the rest of this cost?"

"Don't worry about it," Lily repeated firmly. 

"But I can't …"

"Can't what?" Heath demanded, flirting back to them.  He took Scott's roll of clothes and scooted them delicately into a shopping bag, then wiped his fingers on his shirt. "Afford all of this?  Of course you can't, darling.  Neither can she."

"But … but …"

"We'll put it on his account," Heath said calmly. "He'll never even notice."

Scott licked his lips.  "My dad?" he asked Lily hopefully.

"Control."

He considered for an instant, then nodded.  "I'll pay him back."

"No, you won't.  I already cleared it with him.  It's a gift.  Happy bar mitzvah."

Scott laughed out loud.  "I'm not Jewish."

She shrugged.  "Things change." 

"Lily …"

"Put your shoe on.  We gotta fly."

"Always in such a rush," Heath sighed.  "It's no wonder you're still single."

"Yep," Lily agreed.  "Haven't found a man who can keep up with me."

"Maybe it's not a _man_ you should be looking for."

"Maybe you're right.  Bill me."

Heath slapped a form on the counter.  Lily signed it quickly, flipped it over and slid it back.  Scott noticed that she gave him no opportunity to glimpse the final total.

"Take the ties," Heath reminded her.

She snatched up the three boxes and dumped them in the bag with Scott's clothes. "The pink one's coming back.  You know it as well as I do."

"We'll see," he answered.  "The man's tastes are infinitely more refined than yours."

Lily shook her head.  "Thanks, Heath.  Scott, let's hit it."

Scott grabbed his shoes and followed her closely out.  "Interesting place," he said, when the door was safely shut behind him.

"Yeah," Lily answered.  "He's one of your dad's old clients."

"Really?  What'd Dad do for him?"

"I have no idea."  Lily opened the trunk of a sleek little Mercedes, black with blacked-out windows, chrome everywhere.  She gestured and Scott dropped his sneakers in.   "Right violin?" she asked.   

Scott took the case out and held it against his chest.  "Yeah, thanks.  How'd you get into the apartment?  Becky's supposed to be at school …" From her look, any question about how Lily Romanov had gotten into his apartment was purely rhetorical.  "Oh."

Lily slammed the trunk.  "Let's go."

"Are you okay to drive?  I mean, if you need to, um, rest up or whatever, all this running around …"

She flashed him a knowing smile.  "I love you, Scott, but you're not driving my Benz."

Scott shrugged.  "Can't blame a guy for asking."

"I never do."

He slid into the passenger seat.  Lily flipped some button, and his seat slid back, giving him a comfortable amount of leg room.  "Thanks.  Nice car.  Very nice."

"Yeah.  My boyfriend bought it for me."  She started the car, then handed him a manila folder off the dash.  "I got them to fax me the piece they want you to play.  Just sight-reading, plus whatever you have prepared."

Scott nodded.  That was pretty standard.  He opened the folder.  "I'm auditioning for _West Side Story_?" he asked incredulously.

"Evidently."

"Are you kidding?"

She glanced at him, then spun the wheel one-handed and inserted the Mercedes into a gap in traffic that was much too small.  "You don't want to?"

"Of course I want to, everybody wants to, the music is killer … how did you do this?"

"Well," Lily began, crowding over two lanes, "I was trying to get tickets to _A Chorus Line_ for Munchie and his wife.  It's their anniversary, he was supposed to get them two weeks ago and he forgot and … never mind.  Anyhow, I was talking to a producer, and he was telling me that his brother's doing the road company for the _West Side_ revivaland their first violin got in some beef with his wife, something about the wife, the nanny, and a meat hammer, or maybe a tack hammer, and his left hand is going to be in rehab for the next several months."

"Ouch."

"Personally I would have let him keep the income and got it in the divorce, but that's me.   So all their violins are moving up a chair, but they're short and the company leaves two weeks from yesterday, and did I know anybody?  So I called his brother and played him your tape. And he asked if I could get you out there to audition for him and the conductor."

"Wait – my what?  What tape?"

Lily reached and pushed a hand-labeled cassette into her tape player.  Symphonic music filled the car; the Mercedes, Scott noted, had a better sound system than his apartment.  But the tape sounded like crap.  Then with a start he recognized the music.  "That's me."

"Yes, I know."

"That's Salzburg. Where did you get that?"

"Your dad copied it for me."

"I … but … where did he get it?"

"I don't know.  He played it in the Jag, and I made him copy it for me."

"Why?"

"Because I like it."  Lily frowned in concentration, sliding the car onto the freeway.  "I take it with me everywhere I go.  Usually in my Walkman, but man, it sounds sweet in here, doesn't it?"

"It's all stretched out, it sounds like crap.  You take my tape with you?  Like … when you work?"

"Uh-huh.  It's an anchor."

"A what?"

"When things get really dark, it reminds me that there's still light out here on the other side."

" _My_ music?  Or just any music?"

"Well, any music helps, but yours is the best.  Because I know you.  Because I know the heart the music came from.  It makes it personal."

Scott stared at her.  As complimentary as it was, this clearly wasn't flattery.  He felt like his heart was going to burst.  "I don't know what to say."

Lily glanced at him.  "Don't ever think that what you do isn't important, Scott.  Like Tolkien said, in the darkest corners, sometimes it's the only light."  Then she looked away, popped the tape back out.  "Look at the sheet music.  I'll get you there on time."

Scott rubbed his eyes impatiently, took a deep breath, and opened the folder again.

* * *

Becky Baker paused in the middle of writing an answer on her exam.  Her pencil hovered over the paper; her vision blurred and the question and answer swam away.  She felt ever so slightly dizzy.

It could have been the heat, but it wasn't.  Been here before, she told herself.  There was no fighting it.  Visions came when they came, not when they were convenient.  It had been months since she'd had a clear, strong one.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.    

The world shifted.  Everyone she knew, everyone she cared about, was suddenly crowded into her mind.  Everyone was moving, and everything was gray.

The gray separated, into light and dark, and still everyone was moving.  Scott and his father and his mother, Mickey and his lady, Control, Mira, Lily.  People she barely knew came, and people she did not know at all, and they were all moving, shuffling like those toy football players on an electric vibrating field, into light, into dark.  All jumbled, all moving.  _Where am I?_ Becky wondered.  _Am I moving, too?_

The dark grew darker, and people began to vanish into it.

They would not come back.

Becky searched their faces, trying desperately to remember who went into the dark, trying to keep track, but there were too many, moving too fast.  A dark-haired man, a young woman.  She could not keep track of the ones she knew any more.  Everything was moving into chaos. Everyone was moving away …

Then it snapped. 

She sat straight up in her chair.  She was back in real time, back in her classroom.  It was hot, and the box fan in the window just blew the hot air around.  Her pencil was in her hand, the answer to the accounting problem still half-written.  Beside her, a classmate gave her a worried look and returned to his own exam.

Becky shook her head hard, trying to clear it.  She didn't know whether to be afraid or overjoyed.  There had been so much darkness in her vision, but the light had been so bright, too.  She wished she understood.  Everyone moving, that was nothing new.  Everyone was always moving.  But into darkness, into light …

She took another deep breath and let it go.  The answers would grow clearer over time.  They always did.  Sometimes she even understood in time to help. 

With a final shake, she went back to her exam.

* * *

Scott McCall stepped onto the conductor's podium.  Sacred space, forbidden space, but it was where they'd told him to stand.  The room was bathed with harsh white florescent light, and he reached to tilt the music stand so he could see the notes.   He glanced up.  Past the rows of empty folding chairs and metal stands, back where the percussion section should be, the conductor and the producer and the newly-promoted concert master stood, talking quietly, waiting. 

Scott was dressed better than any of them.  He could have come to the audition in his cut-offs.

But the clothes gave him confidence.  He looked good – damn good – and he knew it.  The shoes hugged his feet.  He felt taller, yet less awkward.  He felt great.

He wondered if the woman who had appointed herself his fairy godmother knew all that.  She was behind him, somewhere, in the hallway.  Waiting.  The beautiful young woman who had been his father's lover …

Scott shook his head.  None of it mattered now.  None of it could matter.  Not the woman or the clothes, not the men who waited patiently to hear his music.  Only the music itself.  He closed his eyes, tucked the violin under his chin, flexed his fingers one last time.  His little routine, making the transition from Man to Musician. 

He played.

They had not said whether they wanted the show music or his audition piece first.  He played the Mozart, with his eyes closed.  The music flowed from him, from the violin, the bow, like cascading light, like sweet water.  Every note, true and clear.  Every attack definitive, every pause sharp.  Every phrase full, complete.

He had never played better in his life.

He reached the end of the section and stopped, opened his eyes and lowered the violin.  Sheet music next.  He reached to adjust the stand again.    

"Never mind," the conductor said.  His name was Hricko, Scott reminded himself.  Herman Hricko and he had an accent that said he was from somewhere in central Europe. 

Scott dropped the violin all the way to his side and waited, confused.  He had played brilliantly.  Hadn't he?  Or maybe the best that Scott McCall had ever played wasn't really all that good …

"You’re in," Hricko said. 

"Oh.  Thank you."

The producer said, "Leave your information with Rachel.  We'll get a contract to you in the morning."

"Okay."

The two men walked out, talking probably about some new matter.  The concert master, a man of about forty whose name Scott could not remember if he'd even heard it, came around the orchestra chairs to meet Scott at the side of the platform.  "I'll get your music," he said.  "And a schedule.  Please tell me you're a fast learner."

Scott shrugged.  "My girlfriend says I am."

The man raised one eyebrow.  "That one?" he asked, gesturing towards the hallway.  "That's a hell of a compliment."

"No," Scott answered.  "That's my future step-mother."

"Lucky dog.  Just stay away from meat hammers, okay?"

"Okay."

"We're gonna have to work in extra rehearsals somewhere," the man sighed.  "We leave two weeks from yesterday.  You have a passport?"

"Yes."

"Good.  Be here in the morning, eight.  I'll introduce you around."

"I'll be here."

"What's your name again?"

"McCall.  Scott McCall."

The man nodded.  "Joe Bradley.  Good to meet you."

* * *

>

They headed back for the city.  The whole audition had taken less than half an hour.  Scott squirmed and bounced in the passenger seat, reading the itinerary over.  "I can't believe this. England, France, Germany, Italy … this is great.  I can't believe I got this."  He considered.  "I can't believe you got me this."

"I got you the audition," Lily corrected gently.  "You got the rest yourself.  You were really good, you know."

Scott grinned.  "I think it's the clothes."

"I think you'd play that well stark naked."  The woman grinned slyly.  "And I might pay quite a lot to see that."

He blushed furiously.  "Uh … no."

"Just kidding.  Well, mostly."

Scott gazed out the window while his cheeks cooled.  They were flying through traffic again, even though there was no need to hurry.  He thought about saying something, then decided against it.  His comments always made his father cranky, and Kostmayer just drove faster.  He wasn't sure about Lily, but he wasn't taking any chances.

He couldn’t believe she'd gotten him this gig.  It would solve so many of his money problems, give him steady income and low expenses for the next six months.  Plus it would get his music career back on track.  Give him a big fat reference on his resume.  Let him meet the people in the industry who could give him his next gig, and the one after that.  This was a huge break.  He intended to make the most of it.

Not bad, coming from his dad's ex.

And she was, he was quite certain, the ex.  Robert and Lily had had a fight, and a big one, judging by the force of the back blast Scott caught from it.  A few months ago, in the middle of an entirely different argument, his father had suddenly begun to rant at him about how Lily Romanov was entirely a Company drone and how Scott was never, ever to trust her.  The rant had lasted until Scott had pointed out, unwisely, that he hadn't even mentioned Lily.  Which had set father off on an entirely different rant. 

But then somewhere, too, they'd made up – his father and Lily.  Robert hadn't objected in the least to Scott and Becky helping with the Fall of the Wall party she'd organized.  Not a single negative word about her.  Scott had thought they might even be back together.  But then Robert had begun dating Scott's neighbor, Mira.

Scott shook his head.  It was all too complicated, trying to keep track of his father's love life.  And he didn't really want to.  It was enough that Lily and his father were still friendly, and that Lily had gotten him this gig.

He was going to Europe.  He was going to get paid to play music, every day, and he was going to Europe, for six months, hotel rooms and catered food and a different city every week, trains and planes and music.  Europe.

Then he sat up straight.  "I can’t go."

Romanov glanced at him.  "Hmmm?"

"I can't … I can't take this gig." 

"Okay," she answered calmly.

"I'm sorry," Scott said earnestly.  "I know you went to a lot of trouble, you and Mickey and … but I can't.  I can't leave Becky."  His heart broke.  He wanted this trip so badly, but Becky had been left too many times in her life.  This would kill her.  He could hear his mother's logic, and his father's, the arguments, it's only six months, you can call every day, you're supposed to be adults, for heaven's sake, she must realize what an opportunity this is for you …  

Lily said, simply, "Take her with you."

Scott stared across the car at her.  "What?"

"Take her with you," the agent repeated. 

"I … I … she has school."

"Summer semester's almost over, isn't it?."

"We can't afford it."

"I have a billion frequent flyer miles.  She can stay in your room.  Now you're down to food.  And that's assuming we can't get her a job with the road company.  She does have skills, you know."

"She doesn't have a passport."

Lily smiled wryly.  "I have dozens.  I'll loan her one."

"But … but …" Scott looked out the window again.  Take Becky to Europe?  Show her all the places he'd been, share all the new places with her?  The cities, the train rides, the crappy hotels, the shows … she would love it.  She would love all of it, and he would love sharing it with her. 

As if getting this amazing gig hadn't been enough, now he could share it with the woman he loved.  It was too good.

It seemed impossible.

"Look, I'm not telling you what to do," Lily said.  "If you don't want to go, it's no skin off my ass.  I had nothing better to do today anyhow.  But if you want to go and you want to take Becky with you, it can be arranged.  Believe me, it would be no sweat."

He took a deep breath.  The possibilities spun through his mind, tumbling over each other.  Becky with him in Europe.  The trip of a lifetime.  "Really?"

"Really.  Whatever you need, just tell me.  It can be arranged."

"My fairy godmother."

Lily chuckled.  "Remind me to run Kostmayer over when I see him."

* * *

Becky let herself into the apartment, put her book bag down.  There were lights on; she could hear movement in the kitchen.  "Scott?"

"Be right out," he called.  "How'd the test go?"

"Good, I think."  She kicked her shoes off and hung up her jacket.  "If I get through the final next week, then I'm done until September."

"Yeah," Scott called.  "About that."  He appeared in the doorway with a stem glass in each hand.  He was trying not to grin.  "How would you feel about taking some time off?"

Becky blinked at him.  She felt the vision return; everyone moving.  It passed.  "Why?"

"So we can go to Europe for six months."  He quit trying to fight the grin and went with it.

She smiled uncertainly.  "What?"

He kissed her and handed her a glass of champagne.  "Europe.  Six months.  Road show.  I got a gig.  You're coming with me.  We leave in two weeks."

" _What_?" 

Scott laughed.   "Europe.  I know you'd have to take a semester off school.  But you could eat in every great restaurant in Europe.  It's not a bad trade-off."

Becky stared at him.

"But," Scott faltered, "if you don't want to, then we don't have to go.  I know how important school is to you, and you've only got one more year.  I just thought … but if you don't want to …"

"You could go without me," she said quietly.

"I'm not going anywhere without you," Scott answered firmly.  "Not ever again.  If you don't want to go, I'm staying here."

"But …" She paused.  Everybody moving.  "I want to."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

He grinned, and kissed her, and they both spilled champagne.  Becky laughed.  "I think we need to drink or neck, but not both."

Scott nodded, stepping away.  "Drink first."  He held his glass out.  "To Europe."

"To Europe," she toasted, and they drank. 

Then he took her glass away and gathered her in his arms.  "Now neck."

They kissed long and slow.  Then Becky made a vague gesture towards the couch.  They'd been together long enough that Scott understood:  He was so much taller than her that she was getting a kink in her neck.  They sat, snuggled close, and kissed some more.

"Would you really have not gone without me?" Becky asked.

"Absolutely."

"But this is such a great chance for you."

Scott shrugged.  "But you're chance of a lifetime.  Besides, if I went without you, I'd spend the whole time being miserable and missing you.  Now I can go and really enjoy it."

Some time later, when they had to break for air, she said, "You didn't even tell me you had an audition."

"I didn't," he laughed.  "I think I got swept up in a Company operation."

"What?"

He explained, swiftly, about being accosted by Kostmayer and then by Heath, and taken over state lines by Romanov.  "It was wild.  They just sorta passed me around like cargo."  Scott shook his head.  "Mickey says she's my fairy godmother."

Becky hesitated, listening for intuition.  There was nothing.  There never was, where Lily was concerned.  "Did you tell your dad you got the job?"

His face fell.  "I forgot."

"You should call him."

"In a minute."  They kissed again.  "We're going to _Europe_ ," he said in disbelief.  "We're getting _paid_ to go to Europe."

"Your mother is going to hit the roof," Becky said dourly.

Scott closed his eyes.  "I think I'll call my dad first."

He did. Robert was predictably pleased.  He was also surprisingly supportive of the idea of Becky going along.  "I can arrange a passport for her," he offered, "but Lily's probably got closer connections.  Let her handle it."

"I'll call her," Scott promised.

"And Scott – don't worry about money.  If you need any help with it …"

Scott flushed.  He was getting too damn old to be in his father's pocket.  "It's okay, Dad.  We'll figure it out."

"I'm sure you will, but … unexpected things happen.  It's only money."

Which meant, in Robert-speak, I love you.  "Thanks, Dad.  I'll let you know."

"Whatever I can help you with, Scott.  I'll drop by in the morning, shall I, and we'll see what needs to be done."

"Sure.  You, uh, wouldn't be willing to tell Mom for us, would you?"

There was a distinct pause.  "Let me know if you need any money, Scott."  The phone went dead.

Scott turned to Becky.  "Let's have dinner."

* * *

Control shook his head, pausing between bites of pasta. "Your good deed for the day, was it?"

"It was fun," Lily said.  "And he was _so_ good at the audition." 

"I'm sure he was.  He's very talented.  He always has been."

"Oh, Heath sent you ties.  One's pink."  He cocked one eyebrow at her.  "I told him you wouldn't wear it, but you know how he is."

"I'll look at it."  Lily popped to her feet.  "Not right now …" he began.  There was no point.  She'd already trotted into the living room and returned with the ties.  He considered the pink one.  "It's not pink.  It's more salmon."

"I told him.  He insisted."

"I'll wear it," Control replied serenely.  Then he grinned.  "Mostly to keep you from thinking you know everything about me."  He put the ties aside and continued his attack on the pasta before him.  Flat fettuccini noodles, broccoli, mushrooms, creamy garlic sauce.  "Becky's?" he asked, gesturing with his fork, his mouth full.

"Becky's recipe.  I made it." 

"It's good." 

"Thanks."

They ate in silence.  Or, rather, Control ate; Lily, he finally noted, toyed with her food and watched him.  "What?"

"Nothing."

He arched one eyebrow.  "If there's arsenic in here, the garlic is covering it nicely."

She smiled brightly.  "Oh, good.  I was worried."

Control went on eating, a bit more slowly.  "I can't say as I'd blame you."

"I would never poison you, love.  Tear your throat out with my bare hands, maybe, but never poison you."

He finished the pasta.  She bounced to her feet again and refilled his plate.  "You don’t have to wait on me, you know."  Then he shook his head.  "Except you do, and that's pretty much all you do, isn’t it?"

She'd been home from Europe for four days.  This was the first time they'd been alone together – and he couldn't stay. 

"I don't mind," Lily answered.  "I find my own amusements."

Control considered her. Lily Romanov was a beautiful, resourceful woman, and she was fully capable of amusing herself.  He didn't want to consider what amusements such a woman could find on the streets of New York City.  How many men – no, he emphatically did not want to think about it.  But while he was stuck in the office twenty or more hours a day, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding wound that was central Europe, he could hardly ask that she sit quietly at home and wait for him to show up for dinner.  

The quiet fear lurked in him, always, that he would lose her to someone more amusing – or at least more attentive.  He couldn't even blame her.  The fault would be entirely his.

Yet here she was, cooking dinner for him, attending his every need.

And if he'd said, I've got twenty minutes, leave the dishes, let's go screw – even if he put it just that baldly – she'd not only be agreeable, she'd be enthusiastic.  My drive-by sex life, Control thought grimly.  She'd called it that once, apologized later, but it was absolutely true.

He wanted more.  Sometimes they had more.  Much more.  He wanted more now.

Except that he had to get back to the office.

Lily was still watching him.  "What?" he snapped.

"When was the last time you ate?" Lily asked quietly.

Control bristled.  "Breakfast."

"Today?"

"Maybe yesterday," he conceded.  "I've been busy."

She shook her head.  "I bet you've lost ten pounds since I saw you last.  Doesn't anybody take care of you while I'm gone?"

"No." 

Lily sat back.  She had gone silent.  Not quiet, as she'd been before.  Silent.  There was a difference; Control could feel it in the air between them.  He'd snapped his reply once too often.  She wouldn't argue with him about it.  She understood all the 'whys' of his temper.  But she wasn’t going to step into the line of fire again, either.  She would stay silent, or nearly so, until he left.

And next time he showed up, it would be as if nothing had happened. 

It was how their relationship had always worked.

In a city full of men more amusing, more attentive.

"I don't know why you stay with me," Control said quietly.

"Yes, you do," she answered.

He nodded.  He did.  Though he very much doubted that his answer and hers were the same.  He put his fork down.  "It's going to be bad, Lily.  Worse than you've ever seen."

"I know."

You don't, Control thought.  You have seen some damned awful things in your time, but you have seen nothing like the Balkans are about to become.  His mind flashed in gory detail to a sunny morning, pleasant and cool, walking across a new-plowed field, the rough ground at his feet, the sod turned, and as he walked he kicked a clump of grass aside and there was a face staring up at him, a young woman, dead and rotting, covered with grass and dirt in a field that had perhaps been her family's farm.  He remembered the horror as he looked around and saw the whole field had been turned, and his eyes met Robert's and they knew, they both knew, that the field had been planted with the bodies of the innocent, as far as they could run in any direction. 

They had sworn to themselves and to each other that it would never happen again. 

It had happened dozen times since, and it was going to happen again.

"I don't want you to go," he said.

His beloved nodded solemnly.  "All right."

"Just like that."

"We've been through this before, _kedves_.  Say the word, tell me where you want me, I'm there."

Control closed his eyes.  Just like that.  Keep her close, keep her safe.  Keep her from seeing the horrors he had seen.  Keep her alive.  Keep her for himself.

Keep her waiting at home, or finding her own amusements on the streets of New York?

That wasn't fair.  She had never for an instant given him reason to doubt her faithfulness.  But then, he had never disrespected her abilities and her independence enough to ask her to quit the Company for his comfort.

Loving Lily Romanov, and letting her remain who she was, was the hardest thing he had ever done.

"There may come a day," he said, "when I won't be able to let you go again."

"Tell me when," she promised.  In her eyes, though, he saw relief.  She was glad he hadn't reined her in just yet.

It was still an adventure to her.

Control shook his head sadly.  "My Lily, my Lily."

And she was in his arms.     

* * *

The sheer quantity of the details began to weigh on Scott and Becky while she cooked dinner.  "What about the apartment?  Are we going to sub-let it?"

Scott nodded, then shook his head.  "Two weeks isn't much time to find somebody we trust not to trash the place."

"Maybe your dad knows somebody.  Or Lily does."

Scott nodded thoughtfully.  The idea of a spook bunking in his apartment was mildly comforting.  He knew how little time they actually spent at home.  "We'll need to put all our personal stuff in storage."

 "We have the storage bin in the basement," Becky reminded him.

 "But it's half-full already.  Maybe we could use somebody else's, too.  Like Mira's.  Does she have any room, you think?"

 Becky laughed out loud.  "Mira's locker is so full it's busting at the seams. Just like her apartment."

 "Oh." 

 "I don't know what to pack," Becky mused, flipping the steak burgers over.  "I mean, do I just wear jeans all over Europe?"

 "Yes.  I did last time."

 "We need at least some good clothes.  For shows and restaurants and whatever."

 "Maybe a couple outfits.  Damn, I need to see if I can get my tux fixed."  At his last formal concert – more than a year ago – he'd caught the cuff of his sleeve and torn it, badly. 

"You need a new tux," Becky said.  "You've had that one forever.  It's shiny."

Scott scowled.  "Like we can afford that."

She shrugged.  "You need it.  We'll find a way."

"Hmm."  Scott had not told her his father had offered money for this excursion.  He hadn't expected to find a need for it so quickly.  Still … well, hell, he'd let Control buy his audition clothes.  What was the difference? 

 "Dinner."

They ate, and they discussed.  They looked at Scott's rehearsal schedule, with extras hand-written all over it. It didn't leave much time for anything else.  "You're going to get stuck with this all," Scott said apologetically.

 "I'll manage," Becky assured him.  "Let me get through my final next week and then I've got nothing else to do."  She paused.  "Well, except work, and tell them I'm leaving in two weeks."  She frowned.  "They are not going to be happy."

They ate for a moment in silence.  "Look," Scott finally said, "Maybe this is a bad idea.  If you want to just call it off …"

"No," Becky said emphatically.  "It'll be tough, but we can do this.  I just have to get my brain around it, you know?  Start thinking of the planning as … part of the adventure."

"An adventure," Scott said skeptically.  "That's one way to look at it."

"It's the only way to look at it." She leaned and kissed steak sauce off the corner of his mouth.  "We're going to have a blast."

* * *

"An adventure," Scott reminded himself, staring at the phone in his hand.  "It's going to be a great adventure." 

He glanced towards the bathroom door, waited until he heard the shower start, then dialed the phone.  Maybe she wouldn't be home.  Maybe he'd get the answering machine, or …

"Hello?"

"Hi."  Scott cleared his throat.  "Hi, Mom, it's me."

"Scott, what's wrong?"

"Why does something have to be wrong?"

"You only call when something's wrong, Scott."

"That's not true," Scott protested.  "I called you when … ah … I called for your birthday, didn't I?"

"Ah, yes," Kay answered.  "Because you'd forgotten to send a card."

"Mom."

"I'm sorry, Scott.  You just called to chat, then?"

"Is this a bad time?" he asked, a bit too eagerly.

"No, no.  My show's on tonight, but it doesn't start for another half hour.  How's, uh … Becky?"

Scott winced at the pause.  Kay still couldn't quite remember his girlfriend's name.  That, or she just hated to say it. "She's fine.  She's great.  Listen, um, I have some great news.  I got a gig."

"A what?"

"A gig.  A job.  Playing music."

"With your band?" Kay asked uncertainly.

"No, violin.  A real job."  Scott winced again.  Any job where he played music, he'd insisted to his mother, counted as a real job.  He'd fallen into her way of talking already.  "A steady job, in an orchestra."

"Oh, Scott, that's wonderful!  I'm so glad you won't be wasting your time with that band any more.  That was just going nowhere for you."

"Mom!"  He caught himself.  The band had dissolved a year ago, and she knew it.  But it wouldn't do any good to argue with her.  "Anyhow.  It's with a road company.  European tour, six months.  We leave two weeks from yesterday."

"Six months?  Oh, Scott, that's wonderful. Such a great opportunity for you."

"Yeah, I know.  I can't believe Lily even got me the audition."

"Lily?"  The temperature in her voice dropped thirty degrees in that one word.

Scott paused.  He thought about telling her that he was certain Lily and Robert weren't a couple any more.  But it really wasn't any of her business.  None of his, either, for that matter.  He went on as if he hadn't noticed the change.  "Yeah.  She knows the producer, or his brother, or something.  She knows everybody.  So they lost a violinist, and she got me an audition, and just like that I got the gig."

"Well."  Kay's voice remained chilly.  "I'm very happy for you, Scott.  However this came about."

He took a deep breath.  "Yeah, we're really psyched.  Lily's going to help Becky get a passport in time, she says it's no problem at all."

"Pardon me?"

"What?  Getting the passport?"  Scott knew perfectly well that wasn't what she was talking about.  "She says she'll get an official one, walk it through channels for us."

"Becky's planning to go with you?"

Scott forced a smile into his voice.  "Well, sure, Mom.  What did you think, I'd just leave her for six months?"

"Oh, Scott …"

"This is a great opportunity for her, too.  She can see all the world capitals, try out all the different cuisine, it'll be great." 

"Scott, really, now … you should be concentrating on your career, not on this… "

"Mom.   I love her.  I'm not going without her."

"Oh, Scott.  This just isn't a good idea.  What will the conductor think?"

Scott rolled his eyes.  The conductor would think, thank God I don't have to watch out for that one and hookers.  Or, oh, what a shame he's not gay.  If he thought anything at all.  "Mom …"

"And you really can't afford this, can you?"

He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it.  "Dad said he'd help us with the money if we needed him to."

"Oh."  If Lily's name had been cold, that 'oh' came out frozen.  "I see.  You father knows all about this, does he?"

"Well … I called him first, yeah.  But just because he already knew about the audition.  Lily called him to try and find me."

"Called him or just rolled over and nudged him awake?"

Scott flushed.  "Mom!"

"Scott, this is ridiculous.  You cannot take that woman with you to Europe like some … some … baggage.  You just can't.  You're making a fool of yourself."

"Mom …"

"I mean, I suppose it would be different if you were married, but honestly, Scott …"

Scott blinked.  He missed whatever she finished her sentence with.  "I'll call you right back," he said over her voice, and hung up over her spluttered reply. 

He walked to the bathroom door and knocked loudly.  "What?" Becky called over the shower.

"I called my mom," Scott said.

"What?"

"Kay.  I called Kay."

"I've still got conditioner in.  Come in here and talk to me."

Scott stepped into the steamy bathroom.  "I called my mother," he said again.

"Oh," Becky groaned.  "What'd she say?"

"She said we should get married."

There was a distinct pause.  "What?"

Scott grinned.  "She said we should get married."

"Your _mother_ said that?"

"Yes."

"Oh."  There was a longer pause, and then the water stopped.  "What'd you tell her?"

"I told her I'd call her right back."

Becky slid the shower door back and peered at him.  "Why?"

"Because I had to come in here and ask you to marry me."

She stared at him.  "What?"

The setting was wrong, Scott realized, too late as always.  The steamy bathroom, her soaking wet and naked, him back in his cut-offs.  There should have been roses and champagne and such.  But it was too late to back down now.  "Will you marry me?"

Becky just stared. 

"Becky?"

"A-a-are you s-serious?"

He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard her stutter when it was just him.  "I am."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I didn't stutter that time."

"Yes?"  He stepped to the side of the tub and wrapped his arms around her.  It didn't matter that she was wet, or that he was, now.  "Yes?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Becky laughed.  "Oh, yes."

They kissed deeply.  "I gotta call my mom back," Scott said.

"Call her later," Becky protested. 

She was already naked.  He didn't bother with even token protest.

* * *

"Next summer?" Becky whispered later, in the satisfied sleepy dark of their bed.

"Before we go," Scott murmured back.

"Before we … in two weeks?"

"Yes.  Mom says."  He stirred toward wakefulness.  "Is that okay?"

"It's okay with me."

"It'll have to be awful simple," Scott continued.  "If you've got your heart set on something bigger, it could wait until we get back."

Becky chuckled in the dark.  "Oh, yeah.  I had my heart set on trying to stand up and talk in front of a thousand of your mother's closest friends."

"Mmmm.  I bet _she_ did."

"She's going to have a fit."

Scott sighed.  "We could not tell her.  Run off to Vegas, tell her afterwards."

"We could," Becky agreed warmly.  Then she sighed.  "It would break her heart.  She'd never speak to you again."

"I'm not sure that would be a bad thing."

"Scott."

"I'm serious, Becky.  If she's going to be this much of a pain in the ass every time we try to do something with our lives …"

"She's your mother."

"She's a pain in the ass."

"But she's still your mother.  And you can't …" She sat up in the darkness.  "You can't throw your mother away just because she's annoying."

Scott sat up with her, wrapped his arms around her.  Becky had left everything, home and family, mother and father, to escape the abuse of her childhood.  She was right.  Of course she was right.  "We'll deal with her as best we can," he allowed. 

"Thank you," Becky whispered.

They settled back under the covers.  "I don't even know about licenses and stuff like that," Scott admitted.  "I suppose I'd better find out tomorrow."

"I'll find out tomorrow," she corrected.  "You have rehearsal at eight."

"Oh, damn.  My dad's coming over."

"I could tell him."

"No, I … maybe we could call him in the morning, before I go.  I'd like to tell him in person, but I just don't see us having the time."

"And your mother."

"And my mother."  He shook his head.  "We've got to keep this simple, Becky.  We don't have time for anything fancy."

"Nice and simple," Becky agreed.

They believed it, both of them, with all their hearts.

 


	2. Day Twelve (Tuesday)

Just after midnight the phone rang.  "'lo?" Scott asked sleepily.

"You said you were going to call me right back," Kay said coldly.  "I've been waiting here for hours.

Scott winced.  "I'm sorry, Mom.  I meant to call you, I really did … I got kinda distracted."  Beside him, Becky rolled closer and half-distracted him all over again.

"I can imagine," Kay said disdainfully.

He wanted to argue, but she wasn't wrong.  "Sorry, Mom."

"I hope you've thought about what I said," Kay continued.  "I know you're very attached to this young woman, but an opportunity like this …"

"We're getting married," Scott announced.

There was a long, long pause.  Becky shifted closer, and Scott held her very tightly.  Finally, Kay said, quietly, "I don't suppose there's any talking you out of this."

"No," Scott answered, just as quietly.

"I think it's a mistake, Scott."

"I know you do. But you're wrong."

"I see."  There was another lengthy silence.  Then, "I'll come into the city for dinner tomorrow and we'll start making the arrangements."

"Uh … okay.  There's not much to arrange, though.  It's going to have to be pretty simple.  To get it done in two weeks.""

"Oh. Oh, Scott."

"Mom," Scott protested, hearing the tears in her voice.  "Don't do that.  It's not fair."

She sniffed audibly.  "I'm just a little … overcome, that's all.  You caught me be surprise.  I'll be all right."

"I love you, Mom."

"You have your father's way of showing it."

She hung up on him.

"Scott?" Becky said quietly.

He kissed her forehead.  "It'll be okay," he promised.  And then, to reassure himself, he said it again.  "It'll be okay."

 ***

"Oh, yes," Robert McCall said, with a great deal more certainty, as the sun came up.  "It will be just fine."  He found it disconcerting that both his son and his future daughter-in-law were visibly relieved by his pronouncement.  "If all you want is a civil ceremony, it's rather simple.  Get the license, find someone to officiate, have a bit of tea after, perhaps."  He glanced at Scott.  "Wear a decent suit."

"Yes, Dad."  The boy added, "Uh … I need a new tux.  For the tour."

Robert closed his eyes briefly.  "I suppose you're done growing now.  I'll take you to Madam Olga." 

"Oh, good.  I was afraid you'd send me back to Heath."

"Madam Olga is Heath's mother," Robert pronounced with some relish.  "And men with arms and training are known to be terrified of her.  Myself included.  But she will make you a tuxedo that fits, I can promise you that.  We should go right away, though.  When do you get back from rehearsal?"

"We're supposed to be done at three.  So, four-ish."

"Kay's coming for dinner at six," Becky said quietly.

McCall scowled.  "Is she.  Well, I suppose that can't be helped.  I'll call Madam Olga and see if she can see you then."  He paused, reflecting.  "She's always quite busy, but she does owe me a favor.  Or two."

"What about a passport?" Scott asked.  "For Becky?"

"Call Romanov.  Let her take care of that."

"I'll call her," Becky said.  She stood and poured Robert another cup of coffee.  It was strong and hot, the way he liked it.  The way this ungodly hour of the morning demanded.  "Maybe I can get her to go shopping with me."

"I'm sure she'd be delighted," Robert said.

"She did say she'd help with anything we needed," Scott said carefully.  "She acted like she's got nothing to do."

"Does she, now?" Robert mused.  "I would have thought … well, no matter.  Absolutely, ask her to shop with you.  And anything else you need.  She has impeccable taste and extensive contacts.  If she's volunteered to help, let her."

"I thought you and she weren't …" Scott caught himself.  "I thought you were fighting."

McCall considered, sipping his blissfully hot coffee.  "We've patched up our differences."

"Good."

"But, Scott."  He chose his next words with great care.  "To obtain a passport, to socialize with her, that's all well and good.  If your life is ever on the line – if you're ever in danger – " He stopped again.  "You can trust Lily, to some degree.  But never forget that she is ultimately a creature of the Company.  Her first loyalty will always lie with Control.  Always."

"With Control or with the Company?" Becky asked quietly.

Robert studied her.  She was quiet, and it was easy to think she wasn't bright.  But Becky Baker was a keen observer of the people around her – and psychic as well.  It was really quite astounding that she hadn't gleaned the Great Secret yet.  "Control first," he answered honestly.  "Company second."

Scott shifted uneasily.  "Well, I don't really think anybody's going to die over this simple little wedding."

"From your lips, son," McCall said earnestly.  "All right.  You need to be on your way.  I'll call Madam Olga.  Becky can call Lily.  I suppose the next thing is to decide on a date.  But it's best if we let your mother have some input on that, I suppose."

"Please come to dinner," Becky said.

"Ahh …" Robert answered.  He looked into her big brown slightly frightened eyes and folded.  "Six.  I'll be here.  But we should go out somewhere to dinner."

"I thought I'd cook."

McCall shook his head.  "You want to have the option to leave."

"You think she'll be that bad?" Scott asked.

"I don't know.  I just believe in leaving options open."

Scott nodded.  "We will.  But this will be okay.  It'll be okay."

 ***

"Scott says you can get me a passport in two weeks."

Lily nodded, her mouth full of cinnamon roll.  "You need it?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Becky smiled nervously.  "I also need a marriage license."

"Hmm."  If the older woman was surprised, she didn't show it.  "Also in two weeks?"

"Yes."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

Lily wiped her mouth.  "What kind of wedding do you have in mind?"

"Small," Becky said firmly.  "Simple. Just a civil ceremony, maybe a little … I don't know, Robert says like a tea?"

Lily nodded again.  "I'll handle the paperwork.  Let me know what else I can do."

"Okay."

"Seriously.  I have the time off and absolutely nothing to do."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You want to go shopping?"

"Now?"

"Yes."

Lily nodded.  "Can I take cinnamon rolls along?"

"Help yourself."

 ***

The music was tough, and Scott felt achingly out of practice.  He was seated last chair, which he'd expected.  With the first chair gone, everyone else – all three of them – had moved up one.  There was a time when he would have resented being last.  But after the second hour, when he could barely keep his violin under his chin, he was glad for the lowered expectations.

He was glad to be busy, too.  In those few slack moments, he remembered that they were all having dinner with his mother.  And that his mother was not at all happy about his impending wedding.

Although – she had seemed to accept it, hadn't she?  She'd sounded resigned on the phone.  Maybe dinner wouldn't be that bad.

He sighed.  He was kidding himself.  It was going to be awful.

He focused on the music again.

 ***

It was a funny little resale shop, narrow and deep, with barred windows over faded 'Sale' signs.  Becky had walked by it a hundred times, but she had never thought to stop in on her own.  Lily, however, seemed to feel right at home there.  "They have great stuff," she said confidently.

There was a vast, unshaven man in a dirty white t-shirt behind the register, reading a tabloid.  He glanced up at them, grunted once, and ignored them.

"I only shop here for an ambience," Lily said. 

There were hanging racks full of jeans on the wall, three high, over fifteen feet, and bent metal poles to reach the higher ones down with.  On the floor, wobbly round racks were crammed with dresses and skirts and clothes of all varieties.  Becky picked at a dark blue dress nervously.  To her surprise, it was lovely.  "This is brand new," she said in surprise.

Lily nodded.  "Everything in here is brand new. And it's always cheap.  If I were the suspicious sort, I'd wonder why."

"Oh." 

The dress was her size and cost five dollars.  "That's one."

They found one more dress and three skirts, four tops and two pairs of jeans.  They found dress shoes.  They found jeans for Scott, and remarkably, shirts that would fit him.  Lily acquired a pile of her own selections.  They spent, between them, less than an hour and under a hundred dollars.  Cash only, of course.

The man at the register spoke no English, and didn't seem to know any words longer than one syllable.

"That was easy," Becky said, rather breathlessly, when they were on the sidewalk again.

Lily nodded.  "Hope all the rest of your planning goes as well.  Let's go get some pictures taken."

"Pictures?"

"For your passport."

"Oh.  Okay."

Lily knew, of course, exactly where to go.

 ***

At the back door of Heath's shop, Scott climbed out of the Jaguar and swayed lightly.  He wondered if his father and Mickey had contests to see who could be the more nerve-wracking driver.

"Do we have to go here?" he asked quietly.

Robert looked over the car at him.  "I'm afraid we do," he said uncertainly.  He tugged at his cuffs, straightened his tie.  "Yes.  We do."

It did not reassure Scott that his father was visibly anxious.

Heath let them in.  "Ah, you're back!" he said warmly.  "You got the job, of course."

"Yes," Scott answered.  "Thank you."

"I knew you would.  Dressed like that, how could you not.  You've ditched the bitch, I see.  Let's try those pastels now."

"No pastels," Robert said sternly.  "We're here to see Madam Olga."

Heath paused.  "Oh.  Formal wear.  I see."  His manner was suddenly solemn.  He dropped back, gestured to a small door.  "You know the way."

"Thank you."  Robert opened the door and gestured for Scott to go first up the narrow stairs beyond.

He went, hesitantly, until he was sure his father was behind him.  At the top was another door.  Scott hesitated.  "Should I knock?"

"No," Robert said cautiously.  "She's knows we're coming." 

They looked at each other, crowded in the dark stairway.  Scott had no idea why his father was so stressed about meeting with a seamstress, but he suddenly wished he had a gun.  And he was glad that Robert did.  Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door.

The room was the same size as the shop below, but mostly empty and dim.  Against the walls, dark racks of coats and pants.  In the center, a square platform.  Beyond, backlit by the windows, in a large armchair, was the outline of a small woman. 

"Madam Olga?" Robert called quietly.

The woman was motionless.  "So you've returned at last," she said, her voice low and cracking with age.

"I've brought my son," Robert answered solemnly.  "He needs a tuxedo."

"He's done growing?  I won't waste my time with growing boys.  Outgrow their clothes before they're even stitched."

"Yes, Madam Olga."

The woman rose slowly, leaning heavily on a stick.  Standing, she was not five foot tall.  She creaked towards them.  

When she reached the center of the room, she suddenly rapped her stick sharply on the floor three times.  The room flared instantly with glaring light, making Scott flinch and cover his eyes.  When he could see again, the little woman was swarming around him, her stick no longer crutch but pointer.

"Put your hands down," she ordered sharply.  "Stand up straight."

He could not help but obey.

"You," she barked at Robert, "get back, get back.  Out of my light."

Scott almost grinned when he noted that his father was as obedient as he had been.  But the grin died when the old woman's attention turned back to him.  "Straight, I said," she snapped.  She cracked his heel with her stick and he found another level of posture.  She circled him quickly, left to right.  Then she turned and walked back the other way, slowly.  "Dresses left, does he?  Gets that from his mother's side."

Scott forcefully resisted the urge to cover his privates with his hands.  If he moved, he was certain she'd crack him again.

"Well," Madam Olga finally pronounced, "he's built well enough.  I can dress him.  Strip."

Scott blinked at her.  "Huh?"

This time the stick caught the back of his knee.  "Are you deaf, child?  Strip.  Out of those clothes.  I can't very well measure through them, now can I?  Off, off.  Strip!"

Scott looked panic-stricken at his father.

"Do it," Robert advised grimly.

In cold fear, with one eye on the stick, Scott began to peel off his clothes.

 ***     

In his clothes again and in the car, Scott wrapped his arms protectively over his chest.

"Are you all right?" Robert asked.

"Yes."

"Glove compartment."

"Hmm?"

"Open the glove compartment."

Scott did.  There was, among other things, a slender silver flask.  He brought it out, glanced at his father.  "This?"

"Yes."

He unscrewed the cap and held it out to his father.

Robert glanced at him.  "It's for you, son."

"Oh."  Scott took a deep breath, and then a deep drink.  It burned all the way down.  And then it turned warm within him.  "Oh."

"Have another.  Then put it away. The box is for you, too."

"Okay."  Scott drank again.  Then he put the flask away and found the small jewelry box.  He looked at the ring inside, the ring that had been his mother's and his grandmother's.  "Oh."  He put it in his pocket, then sat back and closed his eyes.  "Thanks, Dad."

"Feel better?"

"Yes."

"Good."  Robert sighed.  "Let's go see your mother."

 ***

"Well," Kay said, when drinks and appetizers had been ordered, "I don't suppose there's really much point to this dinner.  I'm sure you've made up your mind about everything."

"N-No," Becky answered.  "Scott's been at rehearsal all day and we haven't had time.  A-and we wanted to hear your ideas before we set anything." 

She shot a nervous glance at Robert.  He barely nodded, his eyes reassuring.  They had had, he and his daughter-to-be, a small coaching session that afternoon.

"Oh."  Kay's manner thawed, just a notch.  "Well.  I suppose we'd better start with a date then."

"It almost has to be a week from Saturday," Scott said.  "Or sooner."

"Maybe the Friday," Becky offered.

"Oh, Friday weddings always seem so rushed," Kay countered.  "People coming in after work, or having to take the day off.  It's just rude."

The young man nodded.  "Saturday, then."

The drinks came, and Kay produced a small notebook from her purse.  She fumbled for a moment, and her husband, Walter, produced a pen without a word.

Robert sighed quietly.  This was going to be a bloodbath.

"What?" Kay demanded.

"Nothing," he said innocently. 

"You sighed."

"Oh.  Just, uh, the Scotch.  It's very good."

Kay eyed him suspiciously, then turned to Becky.  "I don't know what kind of a hall we'll be able to get on this much notice."

"W-we weren't really thinking we'd g-get a h-hall," she stammered.  "Just a little, uh, a little reception, m-maybe here?"

Kay looked around Pete O'Phelan's Place with undisguised dismay.  "Here?"

"Why not?" Scott asked.

"Yes," Robert rumbled mildly, "why not, Kay?"

"Well, but it's just so … I mean, really, a reception in a bar?  It's so _common_."

Becky actually flinched.  "J-just tea and coffee," she said.  "Maybe a little cake."

Kay sighed.  "And a church?  You'll never get a church this soon, they'll be booked a year ahead. Not that Scott's been to church since he left home, but honestly … you don't have a church either, do you?"

"I do," Becky said.  "But they already have a wedding scheduled."

Kay sighed. "I really think we should just postpone this whole affair.  It's not as if there really needs to be this great hurry – does there?"

Becky looked at her blankly. 

"No," Scott said quickly.

"Well, then.  We need to just put this wedding off and take some time to plan it, and then when Scott gets back from his tour …"

"No," Scott said firmly.

Robert nodded to himself.  He had hoped the boy would stand up to her.  Now, hopefully, he would stick to his guns.          

"Now, Scott …" Kay began.

"I'm not going on tour without Becky.  And you were the one who said we should get married first."

"Well."  Kay sat back and sipped her drink.  "Well."

"We just want a small civil ceremony," Becky said. "And then just a coffee."

"Yes," Kay answered coldly.  "You said that."

An uneasy silence settled over the table.  The waiter brought several plates of appetizers, opened his mouth to banter a bit, then thought better of it and went away. 

"Well," Kay finally said.  "If that the case, I just don't see how I can invite much family.  Your aunt and uncle, Scott, I can't see them coming all the way into the city for a piece of cake."

"I don't expect them to," Scott answered. 

"And of course there's Dorothy and Dave, they’ll just be heartbroken not to be invited, but honestly, I can't expect …"

Here is comes, Robert thought, and on cue his ex-wife began to cry.

"Mom …" Scott said.

Kay grabbed her napkin and dabbed her eyes.  "No, don't," she answered.  "Don't worry about it.  I understand you're a grown man, you have to make your own decisions.  It's just that I had some hopes, you know, to see my son married in a church, with flowers and candles and all our friends around … but I suppose the world just doesn't work that way any more."

McCall felt his back stiffen with anger.  He barely, barely bit back an argument.  This was Scott's fight; it had to be.  But he could see his son folding.

Scott and Becky shared a long look.  "I-I could ask," Becky finally said, "about the church.  I don't know if t-they could have a second wedding, l-late in the day, m-maybe."

"Flowers," Scott conceded glumly.  "Candles."

Robert sighed.  "I know some people who would be willing to help." 

"Lily," Becky said quickly.  "She said she had free time.  She'll help us."

Kay sat up very straight.  "Oh, yes," she said with a perceptible chill.  "Scott said she was a friend of yours."  She very deliberately did not look at her ex-husband. 

"She's very good at arranging things," Robert offered sweetly.  "I'm sure she'd be a great … asset."

Kay did glare at him then.  Then she snapped her attention back to Becky.  "If you're having a late wedding, we'll have to have something more substantial than tea.  There will need to be a dinner."

"W-we can't afford that," Becky blurted.

"And there isn't time, anyhow," Scott added quickly.

"Well, then."  Kay sighed heavily.  "I suppose you might as well just elope, as have some sort of half-baked event.  I just think this whole thing could wait."

Robert growled softly but did not speak.  Come on, Scott, he urged silently.  Put a stop to this right now. 

The boy said, "What if we had a small wedding now and a big reception when we get back?"

"Oh, Lord, no," Kay answered.  "That would just be blatantly fishing for presents.  No, no, no."  She sighed again.  "Can't your family help with any of this?" she demanded of Becky.

"I-I-I don't have any family."

"None at all?"

"None at all," Robert barked.  "But if you are determined to have your way with this wedding … I suppose I could cover the expense.  Within reason."

"Y-you don't have to …"

"Dad, you can't …"

"Of course he can," Kay said.  "He has _investments_ , didn't he tell you?"

An ugly silence settled over the table.

"I don't mind, really," Robert said, to his son and his fiancée.  "So long as you have the kind of wedding _you_ want, it will be my pleasure."  And then, because he couldn't resist, he added, "I'm sure Lily can locate some wonderful bargains, anyhow."

"Bargains," Kay stuttered.  "This is your only child's wedding, Robert.  Do we really have to look for bargains?"

"Yes," Becky said quietly.

Robert met Scott's eyes.  The boy understood.  They did need Lily for her organizational abilities.  But far more, they needed her as cover for Becky.  Scott barely nodded.      

"All right," Kay said.  "But I won't have this looking cheap.  This has to be a _nice_ wedding."

McCall squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.  The coup was thus complete.

Kay turned back to her notebook.  "The first thing we'll need," she said, "is to set the date.  So we need to start with the church."

"I can go talk to Rev. Tom tomorrow," Becky said.

"In the morning?  Good.  Then we'll need to find a hall, too, before we can have the invitations printed."

"Printed invitations?" Robert asked delicately.  "Is there time for that?"

Kay shot him an annoyed glance.  "They'll have to be hand-delivered, of course," she said.  "And there will have to be telephone calls, but we can follow up with a mailed invitation."

"Ahh."  Robert gazed off into the distance, hearing his bank account whine.

"And then food," Kay continued, scribbling, "and a wedding dress and …"

"I-I was just going to get a nice suit," Becky said.

Kay stared at her.  "Oh.  Oh, I see.  Well, we can talk about that.  But Scott already has a tux, or will have – it would be a shame not to wear it.  And of course if he's in a tux, it would just look silly if you didn't have a wedding gown."

Becky sighed.

"And then you'll need attendants, and flowers, and something for the dinner and a cake …" She looked up from her notebook.  "I need a bigger notebook.  And I think I'd better plan on coming and staying here in the city.  We'll never get this done otherwise."

Scott groaned softly.  Robert almost smiled.  It was exactly as he'd expected.  He'd tried to tell them. 

An adventure, Scott had said.  An adventure he would have.

 


	3. Day Eleven (Wednesday)

"This is ridiculous," Scott said in the car.  "I can't believe I just let her walk all over me like that.  I should have known.  The minute she started to cry, I should have known …"

"It's okay, Scott."

"It's not."  He swerved the VW around one taxi, cut off another, and barely glanced back before cutting in again.  "I knew she would do this and I walked right into it, like I always do.  We've got all these other things to worry about and now she wants the Great White Wedding … you know what?  We should just turn around and go back and tell her no."

"She already left for Connecticut," Becky said.

"Then we'll follow her there and just tell her …"

"No."

"Becky, seriously.  It's bad enough I jump through all her hoops.  I'm not going to make you do it, too."

"I-I want this," she said, very quietly.

"What?"

"This wedding."  Her voice was still soft, almost lost beneath the traffic noise.  "I know it's a big hassle.  I wouldn't have asked, for myself, I would have ... I mean, it doesn't really matter, if I get to be married to you, that's what I want most, but …"

Scott glanced over at her.  "You want the Great White Wedding."

Becky blushed and looked away.  "I know it's stupid."

"It's not stupid.  If it's what _you_ want."

"Just … when I was little I had this doll, this bride doll, you know, and I … you know what?  This is dumb.  I just … when she started talking about flowers and churches and … it's dumb, though.  We don't have time."

Scott sighed.  "We could wait.  Until after the tour.  We'd have time to plan this right."

"I don't want to wait.  I'd rather go with Plan A."  Becky shook her head.  "It's really not that important, Scott.  I shouldn't have said anything.  You're right, let's go find your mom and tell her…"

"No."

"Scott, really …"

"No," he repeated firmly.  A horn blew behind them.  "Damn it, wait a minute."  He scooted the Beetle around a corner and into an illegal parking spot, threw it into park and turned to her.  "Becky, look.  In the whole time I've known you, in the whole time we're been together, I can count on one hand the number of things you've asked for.   You have worked around my crazy schedules, you've put up with my crazy friends – you let Gordy sleep on our couch for three weeks and never complained about it – you fed my dad when he was sick.  Becky, you have been so wonderful to me, and you've hardly asked for anything.  If this is what you want, if this is really what _you_ want, then absolutely let's do it."

"But …"

"Uh-uh.  White dress, candles, flowers, sit-down dinner.  All of it.  If you want it, and if we can do it, it's yours."

"I can't ask you to do all this for me."

"Becky, I would do anything for you.  Don't you know that?"

She began to cry, very softly.

"Oh, don't cry yet," Scott chuckled.  "I have something better."

"You what?"

He brought out the small box.  "This still isn't right," he said, looking around the cramped little car, illegally parked on a noisy street corner.  "But at least we're both dressed."  He opened the box.  Inside was an old platinum band, set with a larger square-cut diamond, with a smaller diamond on each side of it.  "This was my mother's, and my grandmother's.  And now it's yours."

"I … but …"

"Will you marry me, Becky?"

"I … Scott, I …"

He took the ring out of the box.  "We'll probably have to have it resized.  Or we can get the stones reset, whatever you want."  He slid the ring onto her finger.  It fit perfectly.

"No," she said.

"No?"

"No, I don't want it reset.  But yes, I'll marry you.  Again."  And then she cried in earnest. 

 ***

Robert glared at the blinking light on his answering machine.  He didn't have time, honestly, to be helping anyone right now.  He should probably pull the newspaper ad for a few weeks.  Kay's wedding was going to cost more time and money than he was willing to contemplate. 

Still, if someone needed him … he pushed the button.

"Robert, it's me," Mira Kalinich said pleasantly.  "You're late."

McCall swore under his breath.  He'd completely forgotten about their date.

"Since you're never late for anything," the message continued, "I'm going to assume you're with one of your people.  So I'm going on to the show, and if you can join me, do, and if you can't, call me when you're free.  Night, love."

Thoughtfully, Robert erased the message.  The same message from Kay would have been laden with scorn and guilt.  From Mira, there was none.  She was simply going without him. 

He was, he mused, very likely falling in love with Mira Kalinich. 

 ***

"Good Lord," Lily said, letting them into her apartment – which had once been Scott's apartment – well after midnight, "what happened to you two?"

"We have a ring," Becky said.  She was still sniffling.

Lily snagged her hand.  "Nice."

"Heirloom," Scott said.  "My mother's and my grandmother's."

"Very nice."

"I told her she could have it reset …"

"I told him no."

Lily nodded thoughtfully.  "And what else?"

The lightness faded.  "My mother," Scott said succinctly.

Lily pointed towards the couch.  "Sit."  She went to the kitchen, returned with tall glasses of ice and lemonade – liberally laced with vodka.

They drank.  Lily sat in the armchair and waited.  "Your mother?" she prompted quietly when they were calmer.

"Our little wedding," Scott explained, "did not suit her."

"No surprise there."

"She wants a real wedding," Becky added.

"Uh-huh."

"And … so do I," Becky confessed. 

Scott said, "We need help."

"I am at your disposal.  Tell me what you need."

"There's a list."

"There would have to be."

The room was silent except for the clicking of ice on glass.  "Your passport is in the works," Lily said.  "And I checked yours, Scott.  It's good for two more years."

"Oh. Thanks.  I think."

"The license is a snap.  I just need both of you, with birth certificates and driver's licenses, and forty bucks or so. Twenty-four hours in advance."

"I …" Becky began.  "I don't have those."

"Those what?"

"Those papers."

"You don't have a driver's license?"

"I don't drive."

Lily frowned at her.  "On purpose?"

"I never … had a chance to learn.  Or any need to, living here."

"Mmm."

"I don't have a birth certificate, either."

"Yes, you do."  Lily reached behind her to a table, handed Becky a tattered envelope.  Inside was an apparently aged certificate, with all the information she'd adopted when she'd come to the city.

Looking over her shoulder at the document, Scott asked, "How'd you do this?"

"I didn't. Control had it made a couple years ago.  I just had to stop by the office and ask."

Becky stared at her.

"He likes you, you know."

"Oh."

Scott put his glass down.  "What about the license?"

"I can get one," Lily answered.  "Or any picture ID will do."

"I have a school one, and a work one," Becky answered.

"Then we're good."  She looked to Scott.  "When aren't you rehearsing?"

"Um … never."

"Not helpful." 

"Friday afternoon they have cast photos.  I could get home then." 

"Good.  I'll tell you where to go."   

"I bet you will," he answered wryly.

Lily chuckled.  "Those are the critical issues, legally speaking.  As for the rest – does Kay have any sense of prioritizing?"

"Well, we have to see if we can get the church first," Becky said.  "That will decide the date.  And then we go from there – hall and food and dress and flowers and music and … and …"

"Breathe," Lily said.  "This can be done.  Trust me."

Scott sighed.  "There's just so much, all the sudden.  On top of everything there was before.  The apartment, and my car, and rehearsals and packing and Becky's exam and …"

"This can be done," Lily repeated calmly.  "I'll meet with Kay tomorrow and we'll set up a list, prioritize, divide things up.  Don't worry.  This can be done."

"Don't you have to go to work?" Becky asked.

Lily hesitated.  "I'm on vacation."

"And you're going to spend your whole vacation planning our wedding?" Scott said.  "We can't ask you to do that."

"Scott, it's one in the morning and I'm here alone.  Believe me, I have nothing better to do."

"Still …"

"When's Kay coming back?" Lily asked.

"Tomorrow evening," Becky answered

"You're going to the church in the morning?"

"Yes.  I don't think it will do much good, though.  I know they're booked."

"I'll go with you, if you want.  I can be very persuasive."

"Can you persuade my mother to let us have a small wedding?" Scott pleaded hopelessly.

"I'm sure I could," Lily answered serenely.  "But I doubt you'd like my methods."

 ***

"You look like hell," Joe Bradley said in the morning.

Scott took out his violin and tucked the case under his chair.  "Long night."

"Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

"Fiancée.  And mother."

"Ahh.  Set a date yet?"

"Probably a week from Saturday."

Joe whistled.  "Damn."

Scott shook his head.  "It's going to be an adventure," he said gloomily.

 ***

"Mira?"

"Robert.  Are you safe?"

"I am safe," Robert assured her.  "I am so very sorry about last night."

"And well you should be," Mira returned.  "The show was positively wonderful."

McCall smiled fondly, though she couldn't see him over the phone.  "I'm glad you enjoyed it, anyhow."

"I'd go again, if you'd like to see it."

"I would like that very much," Robert answered.  "If it's still there in two weeks."

"Mmm.  Bad case?"

"The worst.  Scott's getting married."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Mira said.  "They're such a lovely couple, Robert.  Always so considerate of each other.  Have they decided when?"

"A week from Saturday."

There was a pause.  "Oh."

"And Sunday night they're leaving on a six-month tour of Europe."

"Oh, but that is wonderful.  I'm so happy for them."

Robert sighed.  "I am, too.  But it's going to be a hellish couple of weeks.  Kay's taken full charge of the arrangements."

"Oh, my poor Robert.  I'm so sorry.  How can I help?"

"You can forgive me for last night.  This came up so suddenly, I completely forgot."

Mira laughed.  "I forgive you.  You can make it up to me after the wedding."

"Thank you.  You will go with me, won't you?"

"To the wedding?"

"Well, yes."

"Me?"

McCall laughed.  "Mira, my dear, you are my lady.  I would like very much to have you with me at my son's wedding."

"I'd love to be there with you."

"Thank you."

"I don’t know what to wear."

"You're on your own on that one," Robert sighed.  "I hardly know what I'm going to wear." 

 ***

"I wish I could help," Rev. Tom said sincerely.  "I really do. Becky, you've been such a huge help to the church for so many things.  But this other wedding has been scheduled for over a year. I don't see how I can ask them to change it"

"We don't want you to," Becky said quickly. 

"No," Lily continued.  "We don't want to do anything that would interfere with the other wedding.  This is very last-minute, and anything at all that you can do is greatly appreciated."

The pastor eyed her thoughtfully.  "You're a professional wedding planner?  I've heard about such things, but I've never met one."

Lily shook her head, smiling.  "I'm an event planner.  This is my first wedding."  She eyed him back.  He was maybe forty, blond and blue-eyed and easy to look at.  And despite the gold ring on his left hand, he didn't mind being looked at.  "So what do you need to make this happen?"

"I … ah, it's not really a matter of money."  Rev. Tom tried not to seem offended at the notion.

"No, no," Lily answered quickly.  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that it was.  Occupational hazard.  I mean, what do we need in terms of timing, logistics, that sort of thing?  There are really two separate issues here – you, and the church."

He shifted.  "They kinda go together."

Lily smiled warmly.  "The church building and you.  Let's start with you, because you're more important than the building. Becky would really like you to perform the ceremony.  Is it anywhere in the possible realm that you could do two weddings in one day?"

He considered.  "Yes.  I could.  If the timing was right.  The first wedding is at eleven, with a luncheon.  I could be free by – three-thirty?  Four?"

"Five would be better?"

"Five would be great."

Lily looked to Becky.  "Five?"

"Yes."

"Good." Lily made a note, though she didn't need to.  "It still sounds like a long day for you.  What can I do to make it easier?"

"I … huh?"

"What would you usually be doing on a Saturday evening after a wedding?"

"Oh.  Well, usually I go home and stay with the kids, finish up my sermon and let my wife get a few hours on her own.  She just, you know, shops or reads a book with a cup of tea, something like that … I know that sounds silly, but I'm so busy during the week, and then Sundays …"

He twisted his ring like it cut off circulation. 

Lily smiled warmly.  "I think it sounds wonderful."     

He blushed, as she'd expected. "Oh."

"Is there a baby sitter that you trust?"

Tom shrugged.  "The girl up the street, but on such short notice …"

"See if she's available.  Offer double her usual rate, one time only.  We'll cover it."

"You don't have to …"

"Tom.  And what if we got a cleaning lady in for you one day during the week?  Would your wife think that was a treat or an insult?"

"Treat," he answered instantly.  "But really, you don't …"

"What about a guest speaker for Sunday?"

The reverend blinked.  "A guest speaker?  On this kind of notice?  I don't think I could …"

"I'll see what I can do on that," Lily answered.  "No promises yet, but I have an idea."

"That would be great.  We don't have much of a budget for that …"

"Tom.  This can be done.  Let me work on it."

The pastor considered.  "You know, usually I insist that couples come in for a counseling session or two.  To make sure they really know what they're committing to."

"They've lived together for more than a year," Lily pointed out, "and they still want to get married.  To each other."

He smiled wryly.  "You do have a point there."  Then, "What about the rehearsal?  I really don't see how I could do two of those in one evening."

Lily frowned gently.  "Well, I suppose we could move it up to Thursday."

"There's Men's Group Thursday," Becky countered.

"Hmmm."  Lily stood and paced one lap of the tiny office.  "It's a small party, just Becky and Scott and two attendants.  What if I could get someone else to rehearse them?  Maybe you could meet with him, go over any variations, details.  But he's already a priest; you wouldn't have to start from scratch."

"That would work.  It might not be perfect, but it would work."

Lily nodded.  "I'll talk to Nick."  She sat and made another unnecessary note.  "Now, about the church itself.  What's involved in turning around after a wedding?"

The pastor considered.  "Usually the cleaning ladies come in, sweep the floor, straighten up, check the restrooms, things like that.  The flowers are generally left until after the service on Sunday – usually the families donate the church flowers.  We'd need a new carpet runner, new candles – maybe if they got a couple extra ladies in, it could be done.  I'll ask them."

"So we can do this," Lily said.

"I … yes.  I guess we can."

"Good.  Thank you."  She stood again, shook his hand.  "You have no idea how much we appreciate this."

  
"I'm just glad we could work it out."

Lily produced a business card from the back of her notebook.  "This is Mr. McCall's number – Robert, the father.  And my numbers are written on the back.  We'll be in touch, but if you think of anything else you need – or anything else you want, anything at all, just let us know."

"I will."

She eyed him one more time, just to make sure he stuck with the program.  Then she took her notes and the bride-to-be and trotted off to their next assignment.

 ***

"That's what you do?" Becky asked in the car.

"Hmmm?"  Lily cranked the air conditioner onto 'high'. 

"At … for the Company.  That's what you do?  Talk people into doing things?"

Lily shrugged.  "On a good day, that's what I do."

 ***

"Kay's not here yet," Robert said as he let Becky into the apartment.  "Have some coffee. You look as if you could use it."

She nodded gratefully.  "Actually, I wanted to talk to you alone, a-anyhow."

McCall studied her with concern.  Becky rarely stuttered around him any more.  The strain of the previous night's dinner with Kay was visible on her wan little face as well.  Or perhaps there was another stress already; perhaps they'd decided to postpone the wedding, or cancel it all together.  But if that were the case, surely Scott would be here.  Robert put on his most reassuring manner. "Come, sit with me, love.  Tell me what's bothering you."

Becky smiled nervously.  "I-it's not bad, I p-promise."

"All right."

"I-I-I …" She paused, staring at the black liquid in her mug for strength.  "I … you know about my … family."

"I do."  He touched her shoulder firmly.  "And I'm sure all of this wedding business is bringing up a great many unpleasant feelings for you."

"S-some," she admitted.  "But also a lot of …" Her eyes filled with tears and she stopped, embarrassed, and took a deep breath.  "I've been very lucky.  I know I have."

Robert frowned, puzzled.  "Have you?"

"I have.  After what happened … I d-didn't expect anything.  And I found Scott, and we … and I found you, too."

"Oh," Robert answered unsteadily.  A tear trickled down Becky's face.  He took her mug and put it on the table, then gathered her close against him. "Oh, my dear girl."

"I wasn't going to cry about this," Becky sniffed in his arms.

"Yes, well.  Sometimes a good cry is just the thing."  His own eyes weren't entirely dry, either.

She chuckled, then sat up, wiping her eyes impatiently.  "Kay would say we don't have time for all this weeping."

Robert snorted.  "Fortunately, she's not here just now."  He reached for a tissue for her.  "But yes, yes, we must be on with things now." 

"Yes."  She paused again to wipe her nose.  "Two things.  The first one is – I know Kay can be – difficult, and I know Scott's worried about her and me, and I know you are.  So I told Scott and I'm telling you, it's not … just her.  I know it's silly, but I … I would really like to have a real wedding.  A small one, not a big … but a real wedding, like Kay wants.  I mean, I don't really know anything about planning something like this, I know it's going to be a big hassle for everybody, but …"

"Shhh," Robert soothed.  "If it is what _you_ want, my dear, then you shall have it.  Everything within my ability – our ability – you shall have."   

Becky blushed.  "I never … I never even thought I'd get married, and this, coming up so fast, I didn't … I mean, a tiny wedding would be fine, but if Kay wants this anyhow …"

"Yes.  But I'm glad you told me.  I am willing to do all of this, so long as it's what you want.  What's the second thing?"

She hesitated, and there were tears again.  "This one's weird.  And i-i-if you think it's too weird, we can, I m-mean …"

"Becky."

She squeezed her eyes shut.  "Will you walk me down the aisle?" she blurted.

Robert sucked in a sharp breath, and with it the surprised "Me?" that had almost come out.  Instead, he swallowed hard and said simply, "Yes."

Becky's eyes opened.  "Really?"

"Yes."

"You d-don't think it's …"

"It's unconventional," Robert allowed, and did not add that Kay would certainly not like it.  "But I don't care.  I would be very honored.  And pleased beyond words."

"Oh."  She exhaled as if she'd been holding her breath all morning.  "Thank you."

McCall grinned, and gathered her in his arms again.

 ***

Kay brought a huge box with her, and an enormous bag as well.  "I stopped at the bookstore and bought some magazines to look at," she announced.  "I don't think we've forgotten anything on the list, but we might as well double-check.  And there are pictures of gowns, of course.  I didn't know if you have any idea what kind of gown you wanted."

"I … don't," Becky admitted.  "I didn't really think I'd have one …"

"Oh, of course you'll have one." 

"But they're so expensive.  To wear for one day …"

Kay nodded curtly.  "Yes, yes.  That's something a man would say.  They don't understand the importance of these things." 

Robert sighed.  "I'll start dinner, shall I?"

"Anyhow," Kay continued, "I thought you might need some convincing.  So I brought my dress along."

Becky frowned at her, puzzled. 

"Oh, I don't expect you to wear it," Kay said quickly.  "It's very dated and probably not your style at all.  But we're about the same size – well, I was about your size when I was married.  So go put it on and see how it makes you feel.  I think you'll see, then, why you should have a proper wedding gown."

"Oh," Becky said faintly.

Kay untied the old strings that held the box shut.  "And we can get an idea if the cut is at all right for you.  It may steer us one way or the other."

"Okay."  Very quietly.

Kay lifted the lid off the box, turned back the tissue paper.  "I don't think I've even opened this in, oh, it's been years.  I looked at it when I brought Kathy home from the hospital, I always thought …"  She stopped and swallowed hard.  "Well.  Let's see how much damage the attic has done." 

She picked up the dress by the shoulders. There was a soft rattling sound.  Half of the tiny fabric-covered buttons from the back fell into the box.  "Oh," Kay said, flushing lightly.  "The thread must have gone bad in the attic."  She held the dress in front of her.  "I can see it wouldn't fit me any more," she joked grimly.

"It's beautiful," Becky said.  She stepped closer and let her fingers touch the smooth satin of the skirt.  "Oh, you must have been so beautiful."

"She was," Robert said from the kitchen doorway.  "She was a very beautiful bride."

Kay blushed even deeper.  "That was a long time ago, Robert," she said gently.

"Yes," he agreed.  "And I remember every moment of it."  He reached down and picked up one of the loose buttons.  "Silly thing, all those buttons."  He dropped it back into the box.

Becky looked between them, puzzled.

"Go, go try it on," Kay urged, embarrassed. 

"I … I couldn't."

"Oh, go on," Kay insisted.  "At least we'll have a starting place then."

With another nervous glance between the two, Becky took the gown and fled.

"You were very beautiful," Robert insisted. 

"And you were very impatient," Kay retorted, looking ruefully at the buttons.  "She seems better today."

"Yes."

"How did you do at the church?" Kay called loudly. 

"We got it," Becky called back through the closed door of the guest room. "Five o'clock, a week from Saturday."

"Good."  Kay lowered her volume, turned to Robert again.  "Now about a reception.  I was thinking, maybe one of the hotels …"

"No," Robert said firmly.  "I have been to one wedding reception at a hotel.  We all nearly died. That was enough."  

Kay sighed.  "Well it's not like it's likely to happen again, is it?"

"Why risk it?"

"Oh, Robert, don't be silly.  Of course, they're probably all booked.  But we can call around."

"By we, I assume you mean me."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble." 

Robert rolled his eyes.  "I'll see what I can do."

Becky said, softly, "I … I …"

They turned. 

The girl who'd left in jeans stood in the doorway transformed.  The gown fit perfectly, the beaded bodice barely tight, the scooped neck accenting her normally modest figure.  The long smooth skirt skimmed her bare toes.  Her tanned arms glowed warmly under the short cap sleeves.  Her face was transformed most of all by the gown.  She was suddenly, and very definitely, a woman.

"You look wonderful," Kay said warmly.

"Beautiful," Robert seconded.

Becky nodded, swallowed.  "Could I … could I wear this gown?  Please?"

Kay blinked back tears, hard and not entirely successfully.  "Well," she said, her voice strangled, "I suppose it would save us some money."

 ***

"Well, that's two down," Becky said when Scott picked her up. 

"Two what?"

"Items off the list.  The church and my dress.  Do you think she's really okay with that?  I mean, it's sort of unconventional …"

"Are you kidding?"  Scott snapped his head to each side to crack it.  His left side hurt from his fingertips to his waist with the forgotten agony of day-long rehearsals.  "She's thrilled out of her mind."

"She doesn't act like it."

"That's Mom. Trust me, she couldn't be happier."

They got into the car.  "We could do this tomorrow," Becky said.  "You look tired."

"I am dead tired," Scott admitted.  "But tomorrow's not going to be any better, and I may get back late.  Let's go do this and get a couple more things off the list."

"One."

"One?"

"It only counts as one item on the list."

Scott made a face.  "That doesn't seem very fair."

"Sorry.  I didn't make the list."

He gunned the little Beetle into a three-foot gap in oncoming traffic.  Becky squealed softly. 

"Sorry," he grunted. 

"I'm not letting you ride with your father any more."

 ***

The young couple stood and stared at the photo.  It was of a boy, just a boy, unimpressed with having a camera aimed at him.  His eyes were dark and old and sad.

Kostmayer waited.  Everybody stared at the picture, the first time they came into this apartment.

"I-i-is he dead?" Becky finally asked.

"Yes," Annie Keller told her.  She didn't elaborate, and Becky didn't ask. 

Scott turned, took a deep breath. "We need to ask a favor.  Two favors."

"The first one," Anne said warningly, "had better be about taking pictures of this wedding."

Scott nodded.  "I know it's really short notice.  If you have other plans, we'd totally …"

"Shut up."

Becky ventured, "Whatever your usual rate is …"

Anne shrugged.  "I never did a wedding before.  I have no idea. But it doesn't matter.  You're not paying me."

"My dad …" Scott began.

"Your dad saved my life, and brought me this guy," Anne said firmly. "So we are not discussing money.  At all.  Ever."

Scott and Becky shared a look. "Thank you," Becky said.

Anne shrugged.  "You can thank me if the pictures don't suck. What's the second favor?"  

They turned as one to where Kostmayer sat sprawled on the couch.  He raised one eyebrow crookedly.  "If this involves restraining your mother, I'm your man."

Scott shook his head.  "I … uh … we'd like you to be our best man."

Mickey's second eyebrow joined his first.  "Me?"

"Yes."

Kostmayer sat upright.  "You're kidding."

"No."

"Uh … why?"

Becky sat down next to him.  "Because you're our friend."

"Yeah, but …"

"And because if it wasn't for you, Scott might not be here, and Robert certainly wouldn't be."

"Yeah, but …"

"He's trying to say," Anne finally supplied, "that he'd be honored."

"I am?"

"Yes, you are."

"I guess I am," Mickey said uncertainly. "I'm just a little … do I have to wear a tux?"

"We voted no," Becky said, "but Kay says yes."

"She would."

"Madam Olga …"

Mickey shuddered visibly.  "I've got one, thanks.  But I'm not wearing a tie."

Becky hugged him.  "Thank you."

He shrugged, embarrassed.  "It gives me the best sight lines, anyhow."

"Sight lines?" Scott asked.

"For your mother.  I'm thinking blow darts.  Quiet, effective, knock her out until after the reception."

"Perfect," Becky pronounced.

 ***

"We'd like you to be our Maid of Honor," Becky said.

Lily didn't hesitate for an instant. "Oh hell no."

"I … no?"

"No," Romanov repeated firmly. 

"Oh."

"First," Lily said patiently, "I'm pretty much disqualified on both halves of that title."

"It's more traditional than actual," Scott argued softly.

"Second, if I get that close to an altar, I'm likely to burst into flames."

"You are not," Becky protested.

"And third, and most important … do you know why the Secret Service doesn't carry groceries for the First Lady?"

Becky shook her head.

"They need their hands free," Scott guessed.

"Exactly. If something goes wrong, if something unexpected happens, I want to be where I can move quietly."  Lily paused, then grinned.  "Besides, I want to sit in the back of the church dressed entirely in black and weep mysteriously."

Scott laughed. "You would, too, wouldn't you?"

"It will do your rep a world of good."

"We can't talk you into this?" Becky asked.

"No.  Thank you, I'm very honored that you asked, but no."

The three of them sat silent for a moment.  "You've got to have other friends," Lily finally said.

Becky shook her head.  "I don't … you know."  Then, "What about the girl with the tattoos?"

"Shelby?"  Scott shuddered.  "Yeah, that'll work.  Mom will love it."  He thought for another minute.  "You're sure you don't want to get all dressed up and relive your day as prom queen?"

Lily laughed.  "I was never prom queen.  I never went to a prom."

"Never?"

"Nope.  It would have been so awkward."

"Why?" Becky asked.

"Because I was dating my chemistry teacher my junior year, and my geometry teacher my senior year."

They both laughed.  "That's funny," Scott said.  "Good line."

Lily nodded.  "It'd be funnier if it wasn't true."  She shrugged.  "I needed the grades to graduate.  And boys my own age have always bored the hell out of me."

"Oh."

"Present company excepted, of course."

"Of course."

After a moment, Becky said, "What about Yvette?"

"Yvette?" Scott repeated.

"Who's Yvette?" Lily asked.

"My sister," Scott said.  "I was going to invite her anyhow … I was thinking on the way home today I should run it by Dad …"

"I thought your sister was dead," Lily said.

Scott glanced at her, startled.  "Yes, no, wrong sister.  Yvette's older. My half-sister."

"Sorry, I missed that update."

"I thought my dad might have told you about her."  He shrugged, suddenly in uncomfortable territory.  "She lives in Montreal."

Lily nodded.  "Let me know if I need to make travel arrangements for her."

 ***

In the sleepy dark, much later, Lily murmured, "Hey.  Did you know Robert has a daughter?"

"Mmm?"

"McCall.  Has a daughter.  Scott's older sister.  Half-sister."

Control shifted.  "I knew Robert McCall had a daughter more than two decades before Robert McCall knew he had a daughter."

"And you didn't tell _me_ about it?" Lily squealed in protest.

"It wasn't my secret to tell, darling."

"Humph."

"How'd you find out?"

"Scott told me.  They're going to ask her to be their maid of honor."

"Yvette?"

"Yes."

Control chuckled.  "Well, that should be interesting."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think the ex-Mrs. McCall knows about the daughter yet."

"Oh."  Lily rolled in his arms.  "Was this daughter conceived during their marriage?"

"No.  Before.  But not long before.  Not long at all."

"Did you know her mother?"

"Yes.  Yvette is my goddaughter."

Lily waited.  "You're being elusive," she finally accused.

Control took a deep breath.  "Yvette's mother was Manon Brevard."  They had not spoken of Yvette, but they had spoken at length about Manon.  Lily knew exactly what his feelings had been for the woman, all those years ago.  And what Robert's had been, as well.

Slowly, Lily said, "Are you telling me the ex-Mrs. McCall was a rebound?"

"I wouldn't put it quite that baldly."

"No, you wouldn't.  But was she?"

"That's always been my assessment of the situation, yes."

"Well, damn.  That puts a whole new kink in the story, doesn't it?"

He stroked her hair.  She smelled like lily-of-the-valley.  "I wonder."

"Hmm?"

"I wonder if Scott knows that his mother doesn't."

Lily sighed.  "I suppose I'd better call him."

"In the morning."

"In the morning, yes."

 


	4. Day Ten (Thursday)

Robert was still in his pajamas when his son called the next morning.  "Did I wake you?" Scott apologized.

"No," McCall grumbled.  "The sun's nearly up, isn't it?"

Scott chuckled uncertainly.  "The girls will be there in an hour."

"The girls?"

"Becky and Lily."  Scott paused.  "I kinda thought Lily had better be there.  With Mom.  You know."

"I know," Robert agreed.  He turned it over in his head.  Kay did not care for Miss Romanov, at all.  She was no doubt still under the illusion that Robert was having an affair with her.  He really ought to settle that matter.  But a bit of antagonism would keep Kay distracted from completely taking over – and perhaps off Becky's back as well.  Lily, he was certain, could take whatever unpleasantness his ex-wife decided to dish out. 

Lily, truth to tell, would probably relish it.

"All right," he said.  "I knew that.  Why are you calling?"

"I'm on my way to rehearsal.  But, uh, I need to ask you something."

"Yes?"  Robert leaned and examined his coffee maker.  It was still dripping.

"We asked Mickey to be our best man, and he said yes, but we asked Lily and she said no."

"Hmm." 

"And so we were thinking … uh … we might ask Yvette."

Robert blinked.  "Your sister Yvette?"

"Uh-huh," Scott answered carefully.  "And then I thought, Lily thought, maybe before I did that …"

"Yes."

" … I'd better see if Mom knew about her.  Or … what."

Robert rubbed his eyes.  "I haven't had my coffee yet, Scott."

"She doesn't know."

"No."

"If you don't want to tell her, we could ask somebody else.  But I'd really like it if Yvette could come to the wedding."  The boy took a breath.  "Mom wouldn't have to know who she was."

"No, Scott.  I am not going to deny my daughter for the sake of your mother's … comfort.  I will tell her."

"She's gonna go crazy, Dad."

"Perhaps."  Robert rested his head against the cool hard cabinet.  Perhaps, nothing.  Scott was right; Kay would be livid.  "I'll handle it.  But ask Becky not to say anything until I have.  Perhaps this evening.  All right?"

"You got it.  Thanks, Dad."

"Uh-huh." 

McCall put down the phone softly.  Then, not gently, he banged his head against the cupboard.  At least if he was going to have a headache he wanted a good excuse for it.

 ***

Kay planted herself on the couch and began sewing tiny buttons back on the dress.  "Is there any more coffee?"

"I'll get it," Robert offered.  He took her cup and refilled it. 

"Over there," she warned.  "Away from the dress.  You don't have cream?"

McCall sighed very softly and took the coffee back.  "No sugar?"

"No."

"Mmm."

"She's late."

"She'll be here."  He returned the properly prepared coffee, and put it on the side table, safely away from the wedding dress.

"Do you think I pressured her into this?" Kay asked.

"What?"  The whole damn wedding? Robert wondered.  Yes.  Yes, you did.

"Wearing my dress.  I didn't mean to, honestly."

You brought it down from your attic and hauled it all the way here, Robert mused.  Again, he bit it back.  "I think she looks lovely in it."

"She does, doesn't she?"

"Yes."

"It will have to go to the cleaner's."

"Of course."

"A good one."

"Of course."

"Robert, are you mocking me?"

"No."  McCall returned to his kitchen. "Of course not."

"You're going to see about a hotel for the reception?"

"Yes."

"Today?"

"Yes!"

"There's no need to snarl, Robert.  But we can't get the invitations ordered until we know where the reception will be.  And we need to get that done right away."

"Yes, dear."

"Robert, if you're going to have an attitude about all of this …"

There was a confident knock on the door.

"Thank God," Robert breathed.  Never mind keeping his ex off Becky's back, Lily could damn well keep her off _his_. 

His best friend's lover wore jeans a size too tight, a shirt unbuttoned one button too far, and her customary breezy confidence.  She had never looked better to Robert.  "I brought a board," she announced. 

He looked at her quizzically.  She had a large, flat package under her arm.  "A board?"

"A white board." 

"Oh."  He still had no idea what she was talking about.  "Good.  Come in, come in."

Kay took one look at her and said, "Oh."

"Good morning," Lily said with abrasive cheerfulness.

"Hello."

Becky trailed her in.  "Mrs. Wesley, this is our friend, Lily Romanov …"

"We've met," Kay said coolly.

"Nice to see you again," Lily said brightly.  "I brought a white board.  Dry-erase, you know?  It helps me to visualize, to see everything written out."

"I see … what?"

If Becky noticed the tension between the two women, she ignored it beautifully.  "Lily's going to help us with the wedding."

"Ohhhh."

"Do you want this in the study?" Lily asked Robert, hefting the board again.  "Otherwise we'll be taking up your whole living room."

"Uh, yes.  Study.  Yes.  I'll take it."

He carried the surprisingly heavy board to his study and slid it out of the box.  It had its own built-in stand, and he snapped it together and propped it on the desk. 

The women had followed him.  Lily produced a pack of markers, assorted colors, and arranged them in front of the board.  "We can color-code things.  That will help.  Either by assignment or by category."  She looked to Robert.  "Is there coffee?"

"I'll get you some."

"I can get it."

"No, you go ahead."  He was glad for the excuse to escape.  "Black, right?"

"Yes, please.  I drink my coffee like a grown-up." 

Kay nearly hissed.  "I don't know that we really need all this.  It seems to me that we'll spend more time organizing than getting things done."

"I'll organize," Lily said sensibly, "you get things done."

Kay looked to Robert for help.  He wouldn't meet her eyes.  Instead, he took Lily by the arm.  "Can I speak to you for a moment, please?"

"Sure."  She let him lead her back to the living room.

They stood very close together, speaking softly, and Robert could feel Kay's eyes burning into his back.  "You're sure you have time for all this?" he asked Lily.

"I'm sure."  He looked at her skeptically.  "I'm on vacation and my boyfriend's stuck in the office.  I've got nothing better to do.  And this is what I'm good at."

"I know it is.  It surprises me that you could get vacation at a time like this."

She looked away.  "Yes, well."

That was, Robert realized, all the answer he was going to get.  He wondered if his friend had somehow connived to pull his lover out of the field for the coming conflict.  Control had discussed his desire to do just that on a number of occasions.  But if he had, McCall couldn't learn about it from the woman.  "All right.  But if this gets to be too much …"

"I'll let you know."

"I do appreciate your efforts.  I want you to know that."

"Thank you."

"Your being involved in this process may make a world of difference to someone that I've very fond of."

"Your ex?" Lily asked cheekily.

"No.  Not my ex."  He shook his head.  "Very well.  If you're determined be involved in this debacle, I'd like you to have these." 

Robert moved even closer, so that their bodies masked his actions from Kay's sight.  He brought from his pocket a thin leather wallet and opened it.  Inside were two credit cards and half a dozen blank checks, bearing his signature.

"Oooh, for me?" Lily purred.

"For you.  I don't mind spending money on this wedding, where necessary," Robert said.  "I want it to be nice.  But Kay will go completely amok."

She half-turned and slipped the wallet into her back pocket.  "You know, it's fairly sad that you trust me with your money more than you do your ex-wife."

"Talk to Jimmy.  Like him, I trust almost _everyone_ with my money more than I trust my ex-wife."

Lily laughed out loud.  Then she kissed him tenderly, and rather lingeringly, on the cheek, and returned to the study.

She picked up a marker and drew grids on the board.  "Shall we break it down by day?"

"I think we'd do better with the grids going the other way," Kay protested.  "That would give us slender boxes to make lists up and down."

"We could make lists with two columns this way," Lily argued.

"But up and down would be more attractive and easier to read."

"I'm going out," Robert announced to no one in particular.  No one paid the slightest attention.  Gratefully, he slipped out into the relative calm of the city.

 ***

"Jimmy!" Robert said heartily.  "I didn't think you'd be in town."

"Yeah.  On vacation.  Glad you called, McCall.  I was getting a little cabin-kooky."

McCall raised one eyebrow.  Another one, on vacation.  And from what Scott had said, Kostmayer was hanging around also.  "Well, good.  I've got a bit of a quest for you, if you're up for it."

"About the wedding?"

"You know about the wedding?"

Jimmy frowned at him.  "'Course I know about the wedding.  Everybody knows about the wedding.  I'm invited, aren't I?"

"I, uh, of course."  Robert winced inwardly.  Everybody knew about it?  The guest list had just increased exponentially.  Then he shrugged.  Well, why not?  Kay's friends would all be there, why shouldn't his?  It was his tab, after all.  "As soon as we get the invitations back from the printers, I'll bring you one personally."  

"Appreciate it.   So what do you need?"

"A site for the reception."

Jimmy's eyes narrowed.  "A week from Saturday."

"Yes."

"Why not use Pete's place?"

"Why, indeed?" Robert mused aloud.  "The ex," he explained.

"Oh.  Yeah."  Jimmy nodded.  He understood completely.  "My first wife …"

"Jimmy."

"Yeah, yeah, McCall.  Okay.  How many people?"

"I … have no idea.  A hundred, perhaps."

"Uh-huh.  Dinner?"

"Yes."

"Somewhere swanky."

"Yes."

"Ain't gonna be easy, McCall."

"I know.  I do know.  Do what you can, give me a call by the end of the day." 

"No promises."

"I understand."

As he watched his friend move away, all lanky knees and elbows, Robert shook his head.  A hundred people?  That was optimistic, and he knew it.  If Kay had her way …

…and sometime today he had to tell her about Yvette.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, felt the bright sun on his face.  There was no way around it.  She had to be told.  Should have been told when he first found out.  Yes.  She had to be told.

But the sun was bright and the breeze was cool, and at this instant he was out in his city.  Telling her would wait.

 ***

"You must have _some_ family, somewhere," Kay repeated accusingly. 

"I don't," Becky protested weakly.  "I have friends I'd like to invite, but no family."

"Even if they won't come, if they're across the country, the polite thing is to invite them."

"I don't have any family," Becky insisted.

Kay threw her hands up.  "This is just ridiculous.  Are you an orphan?"

The girl hesitated.  "Y-yes."

"So am I," Lily contributed brightly.

Kay glared at her, then turned back to the bride-to-be.  "No cousins, no aunts or uncles, no brothers or sisters?  Nothing at all?"

"No," Becky answered, and this time there were tears in her voice.

"Kay," Lily said quietly, firmly, "she doesn't have any family to invite.  Let's continue."

"I just find it very unusual." 

"I-I'm sorry."

Kay rubbed her eyes.  "Well, all right.  But I still find it very strange."  She straightened.  "You're sure this is all of the friends, then?  No other musical types are going to show up uninvited?"

"They probably will," Becky said mournfully.

"Yes, they probably will," Kay agreed.  "Perhaps we should have security at the door, invitation only, that sort of thing."  She looked pointedly at Lily.  "You could arrange _that_ , I'm sure."

"Of course," Lily answered.  "If Scott and Becky want to make sure none of their friends can just casually stop in at their wedding reception."

Kay sighed loudly.  "This is just impossible.  Just impossible."

Romanov caught the younger woman's eye and winked.  Against her will, Becky almost smiled.

 ***

"Hey, McCall," Sterno said around the last of a chili dog, "where you been?"

"Running errands," Robert said ruefully.

"The ex is running your legs off, isn't she?"

"My legs and my checkbook, Sterno.  Let me guess.  You're on vacation."

"Something like that."

"I have an assignment for you, if you have the time."

"I'm all ears, McCall."

Robert smiled.  "I need you to find the best wedding cake in the city. I'll cover your expenses for the search."

Sterno looked at him, licked the last of the chili from his upper lip.  "You serious?"

"I'm serious.  I need it to feed a hundred, maybe more, and I need it a week from this Saturday.  Can you find it?"

"Are you kidding?  I'll search every bakery in this city until I do."

"I knew I could count on you, Sterno."

"I'm your man, McCall."

 ***

The little man behind the counter looked at the three women impatiently.  "You leave the dress or not?" he demanded, his voice thick with an oriental accent.

"You understand," Kay said clearly, "we absolutely must have it back by this time next week."

"One week, I understand.  You leave deposit."

"A deposit?" she protested.  "I'm leaving my wedding dress.  What more deposit do you need?"

"Fifty dollar.  Deposit.  How I know you come back for dress otherwise?"

"This is absurd …"

Lily Romanov slapped a credit card down on the counter.  The counter man snapped it up.

"I'm leaving the dress," Kay protested.  "I shouldn't have to leave a deposit, too."

"Next Thursday," Lily said firmly.

"One week.  I got it."

"In the morning," Lily continued.

He squinted at her, then at the card.  "You don't look like no Robert McCall."

"No.  And you're not Chinese."

He stared at her, then grinned.  When he spoke, his accent was suddenly more Brooklyn than Beijing.  "Thursday morning.  You got it."

Kay said, "You have Robert's credit cards."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He thought we might need to put deposits down.  I have checks, too, if we need them."

"I'd better keep those," Kay said.  "We don't want them being misplaced."

"I'll keep them," Lily answered firmly.

"But …"

The small man swept the dress over the counter to his side.  "Be careful with that," Kay insisted.

"We'll be careful with it."

"On a hanger."

"On a hanger."

"A padded hanger.  Not a wire one."

The man looked at her.  Then he looked at Lily.  "She your mother?"

"Hell no."

"Happy you."  He slid the card back to her.  "Thursday morning."

"Thank you."

"It can't be replaced, you know …" Kay began, but her companions had already left her.

 ***

Control kept lists, many lists of many things, but he kept them in his head.

He did not use a white board, except on those occasions when he needed to share his list with minds less agile than his own.  But the lists existed.  Some were temporary – things to do in a certain region or mission that, once accomplished, were checked off and the whole list went away.  There were others, usually in the background, that continued.  One thing accomplished, another added.  Or a dozen added.

He kept many lists.

The current lists at the foreground of his thoughts contained the countries that had until very recently made up the Communist Bloc.

The collapse of the Soviet Union had caused upheaval in every one of its member countries.  But in some – those where there was already an alternative system of government forming – the upheaval had been brief and relatively bloodless.  Poland was a prime example. Walesa was on his own feet, perhaps a bit unsteady but well-supported, by Solidarity and by the Catholic Church, both considerable forces.  There were a dozen factions trying to bring him down, but there were twice as  many propping him up.  Below the relatively tranquil surface, their battles played out in classic spy-vs.-spy fashion.  Control was fairly certain he had the upper hand, and that the teams he had in place would maintain it for him.  It bore watching, of course, but for the moment it had been relegated to the B-list.

East Germany had been home to massive street riots the year before.  But when the police refused to fire on the crowds, the government was forced to accede.  The same had happened in Czechoslovakia.  Vaclav Havel had been in jail in January; by December he was president.  And not, in Control's opinion, a bad writer, either.  Hungary had changed swiftly but fairly bloodlessly. 

B-listed, all of them.  Watch and help. 

The A-list was longer, and much more complex.  Bulgaria had been thrashing softly for most of the 80's, and Zhivkov's resignation in November of '89 was still yielding mixed results.  It looked very much like the Communists, under a new name, would be returned to power.  Yet they seemed largely ready to embrace reform and capitalism; for the moment quiet, but well-watched by Control's people.

Romania was in greater turmoil.  Ceausescu's attempts to stomp out opposition were meeting with growing resistance, organization and violence.  He had been booed roundly at a public rally in Bucharest at the end of the year.  Yet no single leader or party had yet stepped forward to fill the void the violence sought to create.  Control had been searching extensively for a likely candidate to put forward and prop up – invisibly, of course.  His alternative was to prop up the dictator; the alternative to that was utter chaos.

But Yugoslavia was by far the worst of them.  Yugoslavia jumped off the A-list and onto a list of its own.  No unifying leader had emerged, and none could be found.  Instead, the country was grinding into nationalism, mainly Serbs and Croats, both sides encouraged to hate each other by Communists desperate to retain power.  Add to the mix the Slovenes, the Albanians, the Magyars … it was a toxic stew, and its poison was ready to boil over the landscape in waves of blood.

And it was to there, to the beautiful mountains and breeze-stroked villages, that Control was sending his best people.  And it was there that he expected many of them to die.

 ***

"Clarence?"

"McCall!  How are you?"

"I'm well.  And you?"

"I'm fine, just fine."

"Business is going well?"

"Going great.  See for yourself.  I got three cars now.  All the business I can handle."

Robert nodded.  "Good, good."  Then, "I need a favor, Clarence."

"For you, McCall, anything.  You know that."

"I need a car for a wedding."

"Hey!  You getting married? The Stephanie broad hooked you, huh?"

"Not me, no.  Heaven forbid.  My son, Scott."

"Oh.  Sweet.  Well, hey, you tell me when you need it, you got it."

"A week from Saturday."

"Nope.  No can do."

"Clarence …"

"I'm booked up, McCall.  Paying customers.  You give me some notice, a couple months, I'll be happy to help, but like this?  Can't be done."

Robert nodded thoughtfully.  "All right then.  Thank you anyhow."

He started away.

"Hey, McCall, you're not just gonna leave like that, are you?"

McCall turned back.  "I can't ask you to abandon paying customers, Clarence.  It wouldn't be right.  I'll just find another way, that's all.  Another limo company."

"Aw, now, don't be like that.  You know I'd help you out if I could."

"I know, Clarence.  I know."  He started off again.

"McCall."

Robert hid his grin before he turned.  "Yes?"

Clarence threw his hands up.  "I'll find a way.  Somehow.  Get another driver in here, something.  I'll figure it out.  I'll be there."

"I don't want to put you to any trouble, Clarence."

"Man, you been nothing but trouble since the first time I saw you."

McCall did grin then.  "Thank you, Clarence."

The driver just shook his head.

   

 ***

His apartment reeked of marker.  Kay was in a lather of writing; Becky was ominously quiet; Lily was gone.

"She went to the airport," Becky said, when Robert asked.

"The airport?" he asked with concern.  For a wild moment he feared that she'd return with his daughter before he'd talked to Kay about her.

"Uh-huh.  Some friend of yours called.  Stock?"

Robert frowned at her.  "Jacob Stock?

"That's it."

Kay said "Do you have Denny Ford's new address?"

"What's Stock doing here?"

"Crashing the wedding, I suppose," Kay snapped.  "Denny Ford?"

Robert shook his head.  "We can't invite Denny."

"Why not?"

"Because he died last year."

"Oh."  She shrugged philosophically and crossed a name off her list.  "Well, then we have room for this Stock person."

 ***

"Nice wheels," Stock said, throwing his bag in the trunk.  "Can I drive it?"

"Hell no."

"You seem tense.  What's wrong, Control riding your ass?"

Lily raised one eyebrow at him.  "Not currently.  I'm on leave.  Same as you."

"Yeah.  Well, you wanna catch a ball game or something?"

Lily shook her head. "You know Scott McCall?"

"I know him, yeah.  Nice kid."

"He's getting married.  A week from Saturday."

"Oh, man.  The girl knocked up?"

"No.  I got him a gig in a road show that leaves the day after.  He wants to take the girl.  His mother wants a Great White Wedding."

Stock sank into the passenger seat slowly.  "I've met Mrs. McCall.  I, uh, I have friends in London I could go visit."

Lily grinned evilly.  "Too late now, buddy.  You're in, and you're staying."

The doors locked with an ominous click.

 ***

Jimmy called shortly after Robert got home. "I got one possible site, McCall, but it ain't gonna be cheap." 

Robert sighed.  "Tell me."  He was absolutely certain that Jimmy was about to tell him it was the same hotel where he and an entire wedding party had once been held hostage.  There was no doubt in his mind.

"The Roosevelt."

"What?"

"The Roosevelt.  Madison at 45th."

"Yes, I know where it is," Robert said.  He frowned, thinking.  He knew the place.  It was magnificent.  And expensive.  Kay would be delighted. 

"They got one room left, the Terrace something.  Had a cancellation.  If you want it, you better get over there tomorrow to book it."

"I will.  Thank you."

"Don't forget my invitation."

"I won't, Jimmy."

"I like weddings.  I been to enough of them …"

"Good night, Jimmy. Thank you."  He put down the phone very quietly.

 ***

Kay leaned over the coffee table, compulsively revising her list yet again.  Robert set a glass of Scotch down next to her hand.  She barely glanced at it.  "No, too early for me," she said with mild irritation.  "You know that."

McCall sat down heavily.  "Kay, we need to talk."

"Go ahead."  She continued to scribble.

"Kay."

The phone rang.  Robert ignored it.  Before the machine picked up, it stopped.

Kay glanced at him.  "You're not going to get that?"

"No."

"What if it's one of your … people?"

He shook his head.  "They'll have to seek help elsewhere, I'm afraid, for the next few weeks.  If it's truly important, they will call back and leave a message."

She nodded grimly and continued her writing.

"Kay," he said again.

She tossed the pen down and sat up.  "Robert, if you're going to tell me that I'm taking charge of this whole wedding, you're wasting your breath.  I already know that.  But what choice do I have?  It's not as if _they_ could manage this on their own.  For heaven's sake, it's all I can do to get them to make the simplest choices …"

"Kay.  Just listen to me for a moment.  Please."

"I'm listening, Robert.  But I am not in the mood for one of your lectures.  I don't see you stepping up to take over any of this planning."

He sighed and took a long sip of his drink.  So many things there that he could argue with her about – starting with the fact that his bank account had most certainly been instrumental in the planning of this wedding.  He let it go.  "Kay, there is … there is something that you need to know.  And perhaps – probably – I should have told you about it some time ago, but it never seemed like quite the right moment …"

Kay smirked.  "If it's about young Miss Romanov, I've known about it for some time."

McCall shifted, drank again.  "It is none of your business, but I am not sleeping with Lily Romanov."

"Not currently, you mean."

He considered.  "Not currently.  And she is not the young lady we need to talk about.  But there is a young lady involved."

"What, another one?" she laughed archly.  "What's next, Robert?  High school girls?"

"Kay, you …" He stopped, bit back his anger.  Then he brought out his wallet and produced a picture.  "This young lady," he said pointedly.  "Her name is Yvette Marcel."

Kay glanced at the photo, then looked away.  "I am really not interested in …"

"She's my daughter."

" _What_?"

McCall drank again.  "I knew her mother years ago, Kay, before we ever met.  We had a … I didn't know about the child until she was grown."

His ex-wife glared daggers at him.  "You have a daughter."

"Yes."

"You have a daughter," Kay repeated icily.

"Yes.  She was raised in Canada, her step-father was killed some time back and she …"

Kay stood up.  "Why are you telling me this, Robert?  Why are you telling me _now_?  Do you just save these things to hurt me at the worst possible times?"

"I am not telling you this to hurt you," Robert protested.   

"Then why?"

He reached for his glass and drained the last of the Scotch.  "Because Scott asked me to."

"Scott?"  Kay wavered, and then her fury crested.  "Scott knows about her?"

"Scott's met her," McCall pronounced. "He would like her to be a member of his wedding."

"You son of a bitch!"  She scooped her glass off the coffee table and hurled it at the wall, where it shattered.  "You miserable bastard, you … you …" Tears caught up with her anger and she gasped back a sob.  "You had a bastard child, you told your son about her and you never ... you never … how could you do this to me?"

Robert rolled to his feet.  "Kay, I'm sorry, I truly am.  I did not mean for this to hurt you.  And I know the timing is truly awful …"

"Truly awful," she sneered.  "Exactly what would be a _good_ time to drop this kind of news, Robert?  You unbelievable bastard.  I can't believe you did this to me."

"Kay, I've done nothing to you.  I was with Manon long before I met you …"

It was, he knew instantly, the wrong thing to say.  Kay dissolved into tears.  "Manon?" she wept.  "Manon that you used to call to in your sleep?"

"I never …"

"You did.  You did for years.  It was always her, wasn't it?"

"Kay, I …"

Out of words, McCall reached for her.  Kay moved away sharply.  "Don't."

He dropped his hands to his side.  "I'm sorry, Kay.  I am so sorry."

She put her hand over her face for a moment.  Then she wiped her tears awkwardly, scooped up her notes and stuffed them in her purse.  "I'm going out," she announced.

"Kay, please …"

Kay left, slamming the door behind her.

Robert rubbed his own eyes.  He considered the Scotch on his wall, the broken glass on the floor.  Need to clean that up.  Soon.

But first he poured himself another drink.

 ***

The smartest thing Scott had done all day, he thought blearily, was to stop and buy a five-pound bag of ice.

He sprawled face-down on his living room floor in front of the fan with his arms outstretched.   Becky had put zipper bags of ice on both his shoulders, on the back of his neck, on his left elbow and wrist and hand.  The aspirin was kicking in, and he was almost comfortable.

In the kitchen, Becky was fussing over dinner.  "Something simple," she'd said, but that was half an hour ago.  His mom was stressing her out, and she was cooking to relieve her own tension.

There were, Scott thought, worse habits.  His stomach rumbled softly.

The phone rang.  Scott groaned.  It was sure to be Kay with another demand.  No, suggestion, rather.  Very firm suggestion.  He listened, tensing, as Becky spoke. He had just gotten comfortable, and now he was going to have to get up.

Sure enough, Becky came to the doorway.  "Scott?"

He groaned aloud, then rolled away from his comfortable ice.  "Mom?" he asked glumly.

"No."  Becky seemed both amused and confused.  "It's Yvette."

"It's who?"  He rolled to his feet.

"Did you call her already?"

Scott shook his head.  "I was waiting for Dad.  Maybe he called her."  He took the phone.  "Yvette?"

"Hi, Scott," she said.  The miles and borders between them couldn't cover the excitement in her voice.  "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No.  Just icing down.  Did Dad call you?"

"No," she said, surprised.  "I tried to call him, but he didn't answer.  Why?  What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," Scott answered.

"Good.  Because I have great news."

"You do?"

"My company won the bid to redo all of Bancworld's offices.  You know, the financial company?  And I get to work on the Manhattan headquarters."

Scott grinned, bemused.  "You do?"

Yvette's voice continued bright with excitement.  "I get to come live in New York for six whole months!"

 


	5. Day Nine (Friday)

Friday morning, warily, Robert asked, "Do we have any idea how many guests there will be?"

Kay scowled at him.  "Well if I could get anybody to finalize their lists, I might have a better idea."  She thrust a stack of papers at him.  "This many."

Robert sat down quietly and began counting.  He much preferred Kay's rage to the silent fuming this morning had brought.  But he couldn't really blame her.

He had not shared Scott's news that the daughter who had caused her so much anguish was going to be living in Scott's apartment for the next six months.

He had counted eighty-nine guests when Kay said, "You're sure that's everyone you want to invite?"

Robert jotted the number on the corner of the paper.  "I'm sure."

"And you can't think of any of our friends I've missed … well, of course not, it's not as if we had that many mutual friends to begin with."

"No," Robert answered quietly.

"That just leaves Scott's list, then.  I don't imagine that will ever be completely final.  They're so casual about everything.  At his graduation party – but you weren't there, were you?"  She went on without waiting for his injured reply.  "Where is Becky, anyhow?"

"She's working this morning, I believe."

Kay snorted.  "All this planning to do and she's still going to that job?  She should have just quit outright and been done with it."

"She's too responsible to do a thing like that."

"Responsible to strangers and leaving me with all this work."

"This is work you've brought on yourself, Kay.  They were perfectly happy to have a very small wedding."

Kay glared at him.  "Yes, well.  Perhaps under the circumstances I should have let them have it."

Robert slapped his pen down.  "Kay, I have apologized for not telling you about Yvette earlier.  I freely admit that I should have told you as soon as Control told me …"

"Control?  Control knew about this?  Well, of course he did.  Control's always in the middle of all your secrets, isn't he?  Why wouldn't he know?  And he probably told you not to tell me.  Oh, I can hear him now!  No need to upset Kay with this, old son."

"Kay!"  There was a wound there, wide and deep.  Though he understood why his old friend had chosen to keep Manon's confidence, he could not forget that Control's silence had cost Robert his daughter's childhood.  And the life that he might have had with Manon, if he'd known – it didn't bear thinking about. But that was his wound, and not Kay's to touch. "I did not tell you when I should have.  I have apologized for that.  But I will not apologize for things that happened before you and I even met.  I will not!"

Kay and Robert looked at each other for a long moment.  Kay would push, Kay would always push, but she knew when she'd crossed the line.  And sometimes, sometimes, in the face of his anger – and his pain – she would back down.     

Resigned, she finally said, "How many do you have?"

Robert shook his head tersely and continued to count.

 ***

"Hey, Scott – where'd you get these?"

Scott turned.  The conductor, Hricko, was waving a half-eaten cinnamon roll.  Becky had made dozens the night before, burning off nervous energy, and he'd put a box of them next to the coffee pot.   "Becky made them.  My fiancée."

"They're good."

"Thanks.  Everything she makes is good."

"She ought to go pro."

"She's trying."

Hricko nodded and took another bite.  "I'm gonna take some upstairs," he said, his mouth full.

"Go ahead.  She'll make more."

Scott shook his head.  The way things were going with his mother, there would be no shortage of food until after the wedding.  He was going to be lucky if his new tuxedo buttoned at all.

And oh, he shuddered, Madam Olga would be so cross if it didn't.

 ***

"This is nice," Mickey said, looking at the front of the hotel. 

Robert smiled wryly.  "Yes.  I wonder if they have any vacancies."

"She'd track you down."

"I know."

They went inside and waited at the front desk while the sales manager was paged.  "I'm a bit surprised," Robert said, "to find you in the city just now.  I was sure Control would have you jumping all over the continent."

Mickey shrugged.  "He will, soon enough.  Right now I'm on vacation."

"On vacation."

"We do get them, once in a while."

"Yes, and you usually spend yours being chased through the jungle by heavily armed men, if I recall.  And yet now you're on vacation, and Lily, Jimmy, Sterno, Stock.  Who else?"

Mickey shrugged again.  "Well, summer.  Vacation season."

"Mmm."

A small, anxious man with unnaturally dark hair approached.  "Mr. McCall?"

"Yes.  Robert McCall." 

They shook hands and studied each other.  "I'm, uh, George.  George Barlow."

"Yes, I know."  Robert remembered him.  "We've met."

"We have," the man said uncertainly.  "I'm sorry, I don't quite …"

"Your last job.  There was a wedding party taken hostage."

The man paled.  "Oh.  Oh, yes.  That.  Of course.  You're … uh … if you're filing a lawsuit, it will need to be against the hotel …"

"No, no," Robert soothed, in the manner that sounded calming while seeming dangerous.   "Nothing like that, George.  In fact, quite the opposite.  My son is getting married, and we need a room for the reception."

The man didn't know whether to be relieved or more alarmed.  "Your son."

"Yes.  And I understand that the Terrace Ballroom is available."

"Oh.  Oh, I see.  Well, let's go to my office, we can check my calendar.  When is the happy event?"

"A week from tomorrow."

"A week from …oh, no.  Oh, I'm sorry, but there's simply no chance, on this notice …"

"You had a cancellation," Robert said evenly.

"A cancellation?  For the Terrace … next Saturday … oh, yes, yes, the Todarello wedding, so unfortunate, but then … but still, to do the catering, set the room on such short notice …"

Robert sighed.  "I understand there can be no possibility of a discount."

"A discount?"  The man nearly laughed, caught himself.  "No.  I'm afraid we can't arrange a discount, Mr. McCall."

"Can we see the room?" Mickey asked.  He didn't move, but he seemed somehow menacing. 

"The room.  The Terrace Ballroom.  Of course, of course.  It's, uh, it's being set for tomorrow's event, but you're certainly welcome to see it.  How many guests did you say?"

McCall sighed.  "About a hundred and fifty hundred."

"Oh, a small wedding.  Well, that does make it easier."

A small wedding? Robert mused.  What constituted a large wedding?  He didn't ask, because he was quite sure he didn't want to know. 

The room was magnificent. 

"Will there be a sit-down dinner or buffet?" George asked.

"Buffet, I imagine," Robert answered, knowing that Kay would object.  "There is not much time to be making lists of chicken or beef."

"Good, good.  I'll set up an appointment with the catering manager, you can sample the dishes, decide what you'd like."

"I'll send my wife for that," Robert said.

"Your ex," Mickey muttered.

"Hmm?  Oh, yes.  My ex-wife."

George eyed him curiously, and then Kostmayer.  Then he shrugged.  "As you wish.  Would tomorrow be convenient?  Most of the dishes will be prepared for tomorrow's reception, it would be very convenient."

"I'm sure tomorrow would be fine."

"Well, good. Good."  George glanced around the bustling room again.  "Let's go see about a contract, shall we?"  As he led them towards his office, he said, "Have you thought about music at all?  The Todarello's had a wonderful band arranged, simply wonderful …"

McCall manfully ignored the burning feeling that radiated from his wallet.

 ***

"Hey," Lily said, "what's up?  You look like you lost your best friend."

Becky shrugged miserably.  "I gave my notice at work."

"I'm sure they weren't happy to lose you."

"They said I should just go home."

"Oh.  Bastards."

Becky nodded.  "I guess people give their notice and then steal everything they can cart off."

"They're still bastards.  Come on, we'll go out and have a three-drink lunch."

"I wish I could."  Becky leaned wearily against the door.  "But I have to go find Kay and see what we're planning today."

Lily nodded.  "Let me get my shoes."

"You don't have to come along," Becky protested.

"Uh-huh.  And yet you stopped here on your way there."

"I did."  The bride-to-be frowned.  "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"It's just, I know Robert told her about Yvette.  And I'm not sure how she's going to take it."

Lily raised one eyebrow.  "Yes, you are.  That's why you're taking me along."

"It's got to be hard for her."

"And so she'll take it out on you."

"Well … yes."

Romanov grabbed her purse.  "Okay.  Here's the plan.  We'll go, but if she turns evil, we're out.  I'll think up an excuse, you just play along.  Okay?"

For the first time, Becky brightened.  "Okay."

 ***

"I have," Robert announced grandly, "secured a hall for the reception."  He tossed a handful of flyers onto the desk.  "The Terrace Ballroom at the Roosevelt Hotel."

Becky studied one of the flyers.  "It's beautiful!" she said in delight.

Kay was less impressed.  "It will do.  Will they cater?"

"They will cater.  You, all, will go there tomorrow at noon and meet the catering manager to sample and select dishes for the buffet."

"The buffet?" Kay protested.

"The buffet," Robert repeated firmly.

She hesitated, then folded.  "Well, I suppose there's really no choice."

"None at all."

"You did good, sweetie," Lily said.  She stood and kissed him on the cheek on her way to the kitchen.  "Coffee?"

"Please."

Kay sighed in audible exasperation.  "You don't have to keep kissing him.  I know you're not having an affair."

Lily returned with her coffee and Robert's.  "Not yet, anyhow."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Kay turned away with a swish.  "All right, then.  We've got to get an invitation picked out right now.  The printer said they'd work all weekend, but we've got to decide and get them over there."

Becky looked up from behind enough invitation catalogs to fortify a city.  "I like this one."

"Oh, but that's so plain.  Common-looking."

"Simple and elegant," Lily countered.

"No, no.  Find something else.  And what colors are we going to have?  We're going to have to choose a color, for the table decorations and the flowers and your bridesmaid's dress."

"Green," Becky said promptly.

"Green?  No one has a green wedding."

"But I like green.  And I've seen pictures of her; Yvette would look good in green."

Kay flinched at the name.  "Green.  I never heard of such a thing.  There's no such thing as green flowers."

"The flowers are already ordered, at least for the church," Lily said.  "They're mixed, with pinks and reds and pink ribbons."

"You ordered flowers without me?" Kay demanded.

"They come with the church," Becky answered.  "From the first wedding."

"Oh, no," Kay snapped.  "Oh, no, no, no.  We are not using second-hand flowers for this wedding.  We simply are not."

"But they'll already be set …"

"Robert, please, speak to them.  Second-hand flowers.  I never heard such a tacky idea in my life.  Honestly, if you people didn't have me here to help you, this wedding would end up in someone's garage somewhere."

"You people?" Lily repeated, very softly.

Robert recognized the tone in her voice.  He moved casually between them.  "We can get new flowers," he said heartily.  "If that's what you want, Kay, I do know a florist who might owe me a favor or two.  I will get new flowers.  With green ribbons, if you like, Becky."

"Yes, please."

"Green," Kay snorted.  "Used flowers."

Lily leaned over the invitation book.  "This one has nice greens on it," she said, pointing.

"I like this," Becky agreed.

"Green!" 

"Look at it," Lily said soothingly.  "It's very elegant, with just this little vine around it."

Grudgingly, Kay looked.  Even more grudgingly, she nodded.  "It would do, I suppose."

"Good," Becky said.  "That's settled."

"Except that now," Kay pointed out, "we have to decide what it says."

Lily marked the page, flipped the book to the verses in the back.  Both of the older women waited while Becky read them over.  "They all seem almost alike," she said, confused.

"They are," Lily confirmed.  "Except these new-agey ones at the end."

"Those are weird."

"Oh, thanks Heavens," Kay breathed.  "Those are awful." 

"This one?" Becky said uneasily.

The women considered.  "It would do," Kay said slowly.  "Of course, if you really have no family, we'll just have to put my name and Robert's at the top … are you sure there's no one at all?"

Becky's voice trembled.  "I'm s-s-sure."

Lily slapped the table suddenly.  "Damn it!  The passport!"

"What?" Kay demanded.  "I thought you had that taken care of."

"I do, but she has to go sign the documents."  Lily looked pointedly at her watch.  "Maybe we can still catch him before he goes to lunch … we've got to go now, though."

"But … but the invitations!"

"That one," Lily said, pointing to the one they'd already picked.  "Your name and Robert's, Walt's if you want, I'm sure Robert won't care.  Two hundred.  Get the envelopes now, we can address them over the weekend and stuff them as soon as we get the invites.  You have all the times and addresses."

"But … but …wait a minute.  Is it Becky or Rebecca?"

Becky hesitated.  "It's Becky."

"That's so informal."

"It's what's on the legal docs," Lily pointed out.  "We gotta fly.  Be back later."

"I … I … oh, honestly, I have to do _everything_!"

 ***

The lunch rush was in full swing at Pete O'Phelan's place.  "Wait," Lily said.  Two minutes later, three businessmen left their seats at the bar.  The women quickly snagged two of them.    

"What are we doing here?" Becky asked.

Pete came over.  "Ladies."

"Beer!" Lily pleaded desperately.

"I guess I won't ask how the wedding plans are going."  Pete went away and came back with the life-saving liquid.

"But don't we have to go get my passport?" Becky wondered.

"No."

"No."

"No."  Lily chugged a third of her beer.  "We're going to sit here and drink beer, and eat something large and carb-heavy, and it's going to take about three hours to get that passport.  By which time, God willing, Robert will have either settled Kay down or disposed of the body."  She brought a brand-new passport out of her jacket and handed it to Becky.

"Oh."  Becky glanced at the passport, put it in her purse, and drank deeply.  "Okay."

"Sensible girl."

The next time Pete came around, she had a huge tray of appetizers.  "There's beef cooking," she advised them.  "These should hold you."

"I love you," Lily said sincerely.

"You love me because I know what you like."

"Yes."

Mickey Kostmayer came in and claimed the third empty stool.  "I love you, too," he said, snagging a deep-fried popper.

"I bet you'd love a beer," Pete guessed.

"And that's why I love you.  'Cause you're such a good guesser."

While he waited, he asked, "Kinda early for you to be drinking, isn't it?"

Lily said, "Kay."

"Oh."  He nodded thoughtfully while he chewed a stuffed mushroom.  "I took my tux to the cleaner's.  Helped Robert book the reception hall.  And, uh, made arrangements to have a look at the hotel's blueprints.  Just in case.  What else am I supposed to be doing?"

"Helping Robert hide the body," Becky answered cheerfully.

"I can do that."

Pete brought the third beer.  "Should I even ask what she's up to now?"

"Invitations," Lily said.

"Printed invitations?  I thought they were just going to call everybody."

"They are.  But there must also be printed invitations mailed out.  Otherwise it's just too _common_."

"Oh," Pete said.  "Well.  Of course."

"Did she actually say 'common'?" Mickey asked.

"She did," Becky confirmed.  "Also tacky.  About the flowers."

"What about the flowers?"

"There's a wedding at the church before ours," Becky explained.  "And they're going to leave the flowers, on the altar and on the railings, you know?  So we thought we'd just leave them."

"Big mistake," Lily said.  "I thought her head was going to pop."

"Your mistake," Pete said, "was telling her."

"Well, yeah."

The owner shook her head.  "Forget about replacing the flowers.  What color is this wedding?"

"G-green."  Becky shrugged.  "She hates that, too."

"I don't know.  I like green.  Anyhow, here's what we do.  After the first wedding, I'll go to the church and replace all the ribbons on the flowers with green ones.  Kay will never know the difference, and it'll save Robert a bucket of money."

"I love you," Lily repeated.

Mickey nodded.  "What she doesn't know, she can't bitch about."

"What's really got her going is the whole Yvette thing," Lily said.

"Robert said he told her," Mickey guessed. "Interesting timing."

"She's going to be our maid of honor," Becky told him.  "Although if I'd known it was going to be this hard for her …" She shrugged.  "He would have had to tell her anyhow, I guess.  She's going to be here all winter."

"Wait, what?"

"She called Scott last night.  Her design firm got this big contract for Bancworld and she's re-doing their Manhattan branch.  She's going to be here for six months.  She's going to stay in our apartment."

"Damn," Mickey said.  "Nice timing."

"Yeah.  It means we don't have to pack everything and store the car and all."

"You'll still have to pack some stuff," Lily mused.  "You need storage space?  I've got a locker in my basement."

"You have room in it?"

"Lots.  I only have Christmas decorations down there.  I'm not big on keeping stuff."

"That would be great if we could use it."

"You're welcome to it."  Lily smiled.  "And Mickey has a van, and big strong arms, just tell him what you need moved."

"Oh, thanks," Kostmayer smirked. 

"You said you wanted to help."

"I said I'd help hide the bodies."

 ***

Robert invented an errand to escape Kay's silent wrath.  He intended just to drive around, maybe go for a walk in the park, or perhaps to drop by Pete's, where he was sure he'd find Lily and the bride.  Lily had not forgotten about any passport documents, he was quite certain; Lily Romanov, like her lover, never forgot anything.  But he had to admire the alacrity with which she had extricated Becky from Kay's spiraling temper.

A cassette lay on the passenger seat of the Jaguar.  He'd forgotten about it.  George Barlow had given it to him; it was a recording made by the band that had been scheduled to play the Todarello wedding.  Given the enthusiasm which George had presented it with, Robert was sure he was getting a kick-back for every gig he helped the band arrange.

He picked up the case thoughtfully.  The cover was professionally printed.  The Marty Usher Band consisted of eight men, all older than Robert, all dressed in pale blue sport coats and dark pants.  The playlist included songs that had been played at Robert's wedding.

Somewhat encouraged, he opened the case and popped it into the tape deck.

He sat thoughtfully for some minutes, listening to the sax and the trumpets, the soft drums and the deep trombones.  The piano.  The singer who understood Sinatra, but didn't imitate him. 

Then Robert began to smile.  He picked up the case again and studied the inside liner.  Then he picked up the phone.

 ***

Churches always pinged Becky's intuition.  It wasn't usually a specific memory or premonition; it was just a sense of time and emotion.  The grief of funerals and the joy of baptisms, the nervousness of weddings and confirmations, and the fuller softer memories, of sitting in quiet peace at last after a hectic morning of getting dressed up, of fondly watching a child color quietly during a sermon, of singing old hymns together, even the worst voices welcome and hidden in the sea of other voices and organ pipes. 

St. Christina's was no different.  Oh, it was much bigger, much grander than her own church, the services were different and maybe the hymns, too, but the feelings were exactly the same.  Becky stood very still and let the emotions of time wash over her. For the first time in days, she felt at peace. 

Beside her, Lily Romanov was quiet and patient as well.  This is not her place, Becky thought, but she feels the peace here anyhow. 

Lily had said if she got to close to the altar she was likely to burst into flames.  Becky wondered again why she thought that.  What had happened to Lily Romanov that made her so hidden, and in her way so hardened?  But I don't want to know, Becky thought.  I want to know her as I know her, as my sometimes mysterious friend.  I don't need to know what she chooses to hide.

There was peace in that, too.

"Hello, Nick," Lily said warmly.

Becky turned.  If she hadn't been told, she still would have known that the young priest was Mickey Kostmayer's brother.  It was the eyes.

"Hello, Lily," he said.

When they had shaken hands, in the odd squeezing not-quite-handshake that sometimes went between men and women, Lily turned him to Becky.  "Becky Baker, Father Nick."

He took her hand in turn.  He had a nice smile, and a pleasantly frank gaze. "It's nice to meet you."

She nodded, only a little nervous.  "You, too."

"I hear you've conned my brother into wearing his tuxedo again."

"Yes," Becky answered.  "But no tie."

"No.  He hasn't worn a tie since his court martial."

Becky blinked.  "What?"

"Never mind.  Lily said you needed a favor.  Anything I can do to help."

The women glanced at each other.  "It's kinda hard to explain …" Becky began.

"We need you to run a wedding rehearsal," Lily said.

"A …what?  Just the rehearsal?"

"Yes."  Swiftly, Lily explained the situation.  "We know you can't do the wedding, neither of them is remotely Catholic, but we'd like you to cover the rehearsal."

Father Nick considered.  It was an unconventional request, but he couldn't see any reason to object.  Nor any reason the Church would forbid it.  "I have a wedding of my own that Saturday.  Well, not of my own, to officiate … but my associate could cover the rehearsal for me.  It's all pretty routine, really."  He nodded decisively.  "It'd be different.  Kinda fun.  An adventure."

Becky groaned aloud.

"Wrong word?" Nick guessed.

"Oh, it's all been an adventure," Lily assured him. 

 ***

Late in the afternoon, Scott and Becky stood together in the line, holding hands self-consciously.  The building was cool but musty; it smelled like paper and ink and warm bodies.  There was another couple in front of them, twice their age and clearly having a silent argument, a third at the counter, arguing about the price of the license.   

"How was rehearsal?" Becky asked quietly. 

"It was good," Scott answered.  He didn't know why they were speaking so softly, but he instinctively followed along.  "I'm finally starting to get back into form.  My hand has quit spasming so much."

"Good."

They waited.

"We could still go to Vegas, you know," Becky said.

"We could," Scott agreed.  "It would be faster than this line."

The man in front of them turned.  "You think this is bad?  Last time I got married the line went all the way down that hall there."

"Uh … oh."  Scott and Becky exchanged uneasy glanced.  "I guess we're lucky, then."

"Maybe.  But if you had more time to wait in line, you might get real lucky and come to your senses."

The man's finance elbowed him hard.  "Pig."

"Ah, settle down.  I'm here, aren't I?"

"You wouldn't be if you hadn't knocked me up."

"You still sayin' it's me, huh?"

"Pig."  She turned her back to him.

The man shrugged.  "Women."  He faced the other direction.

Scott and Becky shared another uneasy look.  Their hands gripped tighter.

The couple at the counter finally came up with the money for their license.  The bickering couple moved up and continued to bicker.

"Scott?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you think it's okay?  The, uh, papers?"

"Your birth certificate?  I'm sure it's fine."

She sighed.  "I know it is.  I'm just …"

"Are you nervous?"

"Aren't you?"

"No."

Becky looked at him.  "Not even a little?"

"About the paperwork?  No.  About everything else?  Yes."

"Yeah."

After a moment, Scott, added, "Not about marrying you.  I'm sure about that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah.  Now letting my mother plan this wedding, that I'm nervous about.  But marrying you, no."

"You're so sweet."  Becky stood on her toes to kiss him.

"I am, aren't I?"

They were still kissing when the bickering couple stormed out, without their license, and the clerk said, in a stone-bored voice, "Next."  When nothing happened, she looked up.  "Hey, get your license and then get a room, okay?"

Blushing and breathless, they stepped to the counter.

 ***

On the front steps, a vagrant in an incongruous black suit coat approached them.  "Hey.  Hey."

Scott reached for his wallet.

"You got a license?" the man said.  "You come back this time tomorrow, I'll marry you for thirty bucks.  Right here.  I'm ordained.  Bring a couple friends.  Thirty bucks."

Scott shook his head.  "No, thanks.  We've got a wedding planned.  A real wedding."

"Twenty bucks.  Lowest I can go.  I got expenses, you know."

"I'm sure you do.  But thank you, no." 

"You change your mind, I'm here five to nine every day.  Any time after that license is twenty-four hours old, I can marry you.  No questions, no wait, no fuss, no muss.  Every day.  Five to nine."

"We'll keep it in mind," Becky said sincerely.

Scott slid a five from his wallet.  "Here.  Keep this as a down payment, just in case we come back."

The man studied him, then Becky.  "I'll remember you.  You come back, it's fifteen more.  Right?"

"Right."

They started down the steps.  "No fuss, no muss," he called after them.

"You know …" Scott began under his voice.

"I know," Becky answered.  "We'll keep it in mind."

 ***

They sat at the desk with stacks of envelopes and phone books between them, each with a list, silently addressing envelopes. 

Kay finished a page and paused to stretch.  "Coffee?" she offered, standing.

Lily shook her head.  "I've had so much coffee today I can't taste it any more."

"I don't care if I can taste it, as long as it has caffeine."  Kay went and warmed up one last cup.  She brought back a plate of cookies as well.  "I suppose I should think about dinner of some kind."

Lily shrugged and ate a cookie.

"I … wanted to apologize," Kay said, settling back into her chair.  "For this morning.  I was rather rude."

The younger woman considered her, then shrugged.  "You're under a lot of stress here."

"Yes.  I am.  But as Robert points out, it's stress of my own creation."

Lily shrugged again. 

"And in any case, you've been a huge help and I have no call to be snapping at you just because I'm … well, I'm sorry."

"No problem," Lily answered. 

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the soft scratch of Lily's pen.  Kay sipped her coffee, not ready quite yet to tackle the next page.

"Kay," Lily said, quietly.  "About Becky and her family.  You need to let that go."

"I just don't understand how she can claim to have no family at all.  Everyone has someone …"

"Kay," Lily repeated softly.  "Leave it alone."  Then, even more softly, she added, "Please."

"You know something about it, don't you?"

"Yes."

There was a silence.  "You're not going to tell me?"

"No."

Kay put her cup down swiftly, sloshing coffee onto the desk and perilously close to the precious envelopes.  "All you people with all your secrets.  You tell me what to do and what not to do, and you won't tell me why."

"'You people'," Lily repeated softly.  "It's not mine to tell, Kay.  But believe me, it hurts her every time you mention it."

"But you won't tell me why."

Lily shook her head.  "I can't."

"You can, but you won't.   You're just like Control.  You dispense truth in tiny little pieces like it was my allowance. You decide how much I get and when.  This is the woman who's marrying my son and you don't think I'm entitled to know the truth about her. I won't stand for it.  I will not."

Lily put her pen down very softly and simply stared at her.

"I demand that you tell me, right now!"

Romanov did not move. He face went blank, expressionless.

Kay was angry and hurt all over again, but there was something new now.  She'd lived with Robert McCall long enough to know that look.  Robert and Control and a dozen others.  Very suddenly, this pretty little flirt of a girl was dangerous.  And suddenly, Kay was afraid of her.

The young woman did not move.  Her hands stayed visible, empty on the desk.  She did not raise her voice.  She was like a cat, relaxed outside a mouse hole, her tail waving languidly, unconcerned and deadly.

Then she moved, slowly.  She slid the envelopes she'd finished into a precise pile, the blank ones into another.  She put her list beside them, her pen on top, and she stood.  "I'll finish these in the morning," she announced softly.

She's leaving, Kay thought with great relief.  She's just leaving.  She tried to stay silent until the girl – and the danger – were gone.  But there had been too many years with Robert, too much fighting against the intimidation she felt in his presence.  "You don’t understand what it's like to be me," she said.

Lily's voice got no louder. "No.  I don't."  She picked up her purse slowly, with no threatening moves.

"I lost a daughter, you know."  Kay hated the shrill defensiveness in her own voice.  She didn't owe this woman an explanation.  She didn't owe her anything.  But she couldn't stop.

"I know," Lily answered.

"Of course you do.  You people know everything about everyone.  I suppose you knew all about Robert's bastard child, too."

"I learned about _Yvette_ a few hours before you did."

"You don't know what it's like," Kay repeated.  "To watch your own child die, and then to find out that the man you loved, the man you thought loved you, had a, a _spare_ just stashed away somewhere.  It's horrible.  It's horrible. It's no wonder he never cared about Kathy …"

"Stop it."

The unexpected snap in her words brought Kay up short.  "You're right.  You're right.  None of this concerns you.  I'm just … I'm more upset than I thought, I suppose.  I just … it's so horrible.  All these secrets, and now there are more about Becky and I just … I can't.  I can't take any more."

Lily picked up her purse and went to the door.  Then she came back.  "She'd be Becky's age, wouldn't she?"

Kay looked at her blankly. 

"Cathy.  She was a couple years younger than Scott.  She'd be Becky's age now.  "

"I … yes.  I hadn't thought of that, but yes."

"You lost your daughter," Lily said.  "Becky lost her mother.  Maybe if you stopped pushing her away, you could be some comfort to each other."

Kay stared at her.  "It's not that easy, to just replace a child with another one.  You'd understand that, if you'd ever lost a child."

The eyes went dangerous again.  "I _have_ lost a child, Kay."

"I … I'm sorry.  I didn't know."

"You don't know anything about me, except that I'm one of _those people_.  And you don't know anything about Becky. You don't know that if it wasn't for her, we wouldn't be doing any of this.  Not me, not Robert, not Scott.  We all would have told you to get stuffed days ago, except that Becky said _she_ wanted the wedding you wanted. Becky, who would rather be skinned alive and dipped in vinegar than speak in front of people, said she wanted a great white wedding.  Because she knew it was what you wanted, and she wanted you to have it, and she knew that was the only way we'd go along with it.  So why don't you stop for one damned minute feeling sorry for yourself, and think about what a gift you're getting in this wedding.  Because she _is_ a gift, Kay.  And you sure as hell don't deserve her."

Kay stammered, "I … I …"

Lily Romanov smiled, her brightest, warmest, perkiest smile.  For the first time, Kay realized that it was fake.  "See you in the morning," the girl said.  Then she bounced out of Robert's apartment.

Stunned and speechless, and suddenly aware that her life had probably been in danger, Kay began to cry.

 


	6. Day Eight (Saturday)

Scott was already running late, and striding towards the door, when the phone rang. 

He stopped and glared at it.  It was an obscene hour of the morning, which meant that it was probably his mother.  And he was already running late, even with lighter weekend traffic.  But Becky was in the shower. 

Two more steps and he'd have been gone.  Let the machine get it.

Instead, he answered it.  "Scott McCall."

"Hey, Scott, glad I caught you."

Scott frowned.  "Sir?" he said.

"Call me Herman," the conductor said.  "Say, listen, those rolls you brought in yesterday.  Can you bring some more?"

"I've got them right here," Scott laughed. 

"Good.  This girl of yours.  You said she's a professional chef."

"Working on it."

"She got a resume handy?"

Scott looked around the apartment.  "I think so, somewhere.  I could find one."

"She's traveling with us?"

"Yes."

"She want a job with the company?"

"Yes!"

"Bring her resume.  Get it to Rachel.  And bring some more of those rolls."

"I will."  Scott hesitated.  "I might be a little late, by the time I find it."

"No problem.  It's just strings today.  Get here when you can."

Grinning, Scott hung up. 

The phone rang in his hand.

Assuming it was the conductor again, he snagged it up.  "Herman?"

"Uh … no.  Anne Keller."

Scott frowned, confused.  "Oh.  Annie.  Hi.  Sorry, I was just talking to my conductor … what's up?"

"I know it's really early," the photographer apologized. 

"I was awake."

"Obviously.  Look, I don't know when the timing's good, but I'd really like to get a look at the church and the reception hall before the wedding.  Scope it out some."

"Sorry, I'm, uh, really not in on the planning much.  But can I have Becky call you right back?  I think they're going to the hotel today anyhow to try the food."

"Free food, even better."

"I'll have her call you."

"Okay."

He put down the phone and waited for it to ring.  When it didn't he shook his head in relief.  The shower stopped.  "Becky!  Becky?"

"Now what?" she called back.

"I need your resume.  And you need to call Anne Keller back about going to the hotel with you."

There was a brief silence.  Then Becky said, firmly, "There had better be some coffee left."

 ***

"Wow," Becky said softly.

"Seriously," Lily agreed.

The Terrace Ballroom was nearly set for the afternoon wedding reception.  The tables were laid with white linen, crystal, silver.  Fresh flowers and candles topped every table.  The tables ranged spaciously around three sides of a polished dance floor; at the far side, the head table was even more magnificent.

"I'm going to feel like an idiot here," Becky said softly.

"No," Kay countered.  "You're going to feel like a queen.  As you should on your wedding day."

"I'm going to go shoot things," Anne announced.  She took her small camera out, left the rest of her gear with Lily, and moved to the far side of the room.

"Of course," Barlow, the events manager said, "for your event we'll have the buffet tables on each side.  We usually set up four identical.  Less waiting in line that way."

Kay nodded.  "Good.  And desserts?"

Barlow pointed.  To the left of the head table was an empty table ready to receive pastries.  To the right, three people were assembling a lavish wedding cake.  "Restrooms are through there," he said, pointing, "and your bar will be here in the back.  You are having a bar, aren't you?"

"I suppose we have to," Kay muttered. 

"And not," he pursued delicately, "a cash bar?"

"Oh, that would be tacky," Lily said quickly.

Anne returned. "Your lighting is amazing," she said.

"Well, yes."  Barlow puffed up a bit.  "We do seek to fill all of our guests' needs, however trivial they may seem.  We can provide your centerpieces, if you like, choose your wines, commission an ice sculpture, whatever you need."

Kay nodded thoughtfully.  "This is how a wedding should be done," she said approvingly.

A young woman in a sharply-tailored suit approached.  "I'm Trisha," she said in a warmly salesman-like way.  "I'm the catering manager.  I understand you ladies are going to try our dishes this afternoon.  If you'll walk this way, please?"

She strode away on her three-inch heels with a distinct swish to her hips.

"If I could walk that way," Anne said under her breath, "I could quit my day job."

Kay frowned disapprovingly at her.  Becky and Lily giggled, which earned them their own disapproving looks.

 ***

The phone ended Robert's peaceful morning.  He had been enjoying the absence of the ladies.   "Robert McCall," he said briskly.

"Mr. McCall?  This is Beverly.  Beverly Heat. I don't know if you remember me …"

Robert smiled fondly.  "Of course I remember you.  How are you?"

"I'm doing great.  Really great.  Got a concert tour coming up, got a new album out I'm really excited about."

"I'm pleased for you.  I truly am."

"Well, the thing is," she went on breathlessly, "I'm staying at the Roosevelt with my mom.  And she saw this thing on the board downstairs about a wedding reception next weekend.  And we knew it wasn't you, unless your first name isn't really Robert, you know, like F. Scott Fitzgerald, maybe you use your middle name …"

"My son is getting married next weekend," Robert interrupted.

"Wow.  That's so cool."

"Cool.  Yes."

"Can I sing?"

"Can you sing where, dear?"

"At the reception.  Or the wedding.  Whatever.  I'd really like to."

"You don't need to …"

"Mr. McCall, if it wasn't for you I wouldn't be here right now.  Not with a new album and a tour, probably not even alive.  I really want to sing at this wedding."  

Robert closed his eyes.  What had Scott called this young singer?  A pop tart?  Scott was not going to like this.  Still, she was so very earnest.  He didn't have the heart to tell her no.  "Of course you can, dear.  Let me take down your number and I'll have the official planning team get in touch with you."

 ***

They chose the menu with remarkably little argument.  For all the elegance of the restaurant, there were really only a few choices for catering a gathering of this size.  Chicken, beef, pork, pasta.  Potatoes, rice, vegetables.  Hors d'ourves.  All would be beautifully prepared, some with interesting seasonings.  None would be strikingly original.

The meal settled, the ladies turned to desserts.  Trisha brought an assortment on a tray.  Kay tried a bite of creampuff and made a face at the soggy crust.  Becky found the nut roll dry.  Lily said the cookies tasted like paste, and Anne's chocolate-dipped strawberry was mushy and melting. 

"These are for today's wedding reception?" Becky asked.

"We have a new pastry chef," Trisha explained.  "Aren't the trays lovely?"

"The presentation is fine," Becky answered.  "But the desserts are … um …"

"Terrible," Kay provided.  "We'll have our own desserts brought in."

"Oh." Trisha glanced at Barlow.  "Oh, I don't know if we can allow that."

"We're paying an arm and a leg for this event and that's before the open bar," Kay snapped.  "Your desserts are terrible.  We're bringing our own."

"But it's highly unusual …"

Lily said, "Is this an egg shell?"

"All right, then.  Your own desserts.  That would be fine."

On the way to the car, Kay said, "Where are we going to get that many desserts?"

"I could bake," Becky offered.

"You don't have time."

"We could have everybody bring their own," Lily suggested lightly.

Kay glared at her.  "Pot luck desserts.  Oh, yes.  That would be elegant."

She grinned.  "Don't worry.  I know a place."

"What kind of place?"

Lily unlocked her car and let them in.  "A place where they know how to make desserts."

 ***   

"I found it," Sterno announced.

Robert nodded, unimpressed.  "You have samples?"

"Right here."  He hoisted a grocery bag with carry-out containers.  "I gotta tell you, McCall, it wasn't easy, but this was the sweetest assignment you ever sent me on."  He chuckled.  "Sweetest.  Get it?"

"I get it, Sterno.  I get it."  He took the bag carefully.  "Where is this place?"

"Yonkers."

"Yonkers?"

"There's a flyer in the bag.  Little hole in the wall, looks like nothing.  Donut shop, you know?  I drew a map on the back.  It's not easy to find.  But everywhere I asked, they said it was the place.  And wait'll you taste it."

"I'm looking forward to it.  Thank you."

"So, uh," Sterno said gently, "am I, uh …?"

"Getting an invitation?" Robert asked.  "Of course you are.  They're at the printers now, we should have them on Monday.  I'll try to look you up.  But in case I miss you, it's next Saturday."  He shuddered, suddenly chilled.  One week left.  "The reception's at the Roosevelt, probably at seven."

Sterno grinned.  "Good.  Good.  I'll be there."

"And Sterno?"

"Yeah, McCall?"

"Come hungry, will you?"

"You got it."

 ***

At St. Christina's, the Saturday wedding was already in progress.  The streets around the church were crammed with cars, and the spaces nearest the door were taken by two brightly-decorated stretch limousines. 

"Nick?" Becky asked.

Lily nodded.  She threaded the Mercedes gently between double-parked cars and around to the back of the church.  "Well, sorta.  Nick's busy, but we can still get this done." On the next block she found a mostly-legal parking spot behind a black van. 

As they got out of the car, Mickey Kostmayer stepped out of the shadow of a doorway.  "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, yeah," Lily grumbled.

"Hey, gorgeous," he added, kissing Annie on the lips.  "Having fun?"

"I was until we got to the desserts."

"You, uh, you know each other?" Kay asked curiously.

"Biblically," Lily said brightly.  "Shall we?"

"This isn't going to be easy, you know," Mickey said as they walked back towards the church.  "These ladies, you know how they get if they think you're rushing them."

"That's why we brought you," Lily answered.  "To be insouciant and charming."

He cocked one eyebrow.  "Insouciant?"

"Just look hungry," Becky advised.  "They won't be able to resist."

The back door of the social hall was open, and the kitchen was stiflingly hot.  A dozen small old women worked in black dresses with long sleeves and spotless white aprons over the church stoves and ovens, preparing the reception feast for the wedding that could be heard muffled overhead.  They shot annoyed glances at the visitors, but no one tried to stop them as they made their way to the far side of the kitchen.  There, fussing over a vast tray of pastries was the oldest woman of all. 

"Marga!" Mickey called warmly.  "I knew I'd find you here."

She grinned at him.  She had only four teeth.  "Ah, Mikhail, just like you, come first to the sweets."

"And you're the sweetest of them all, Marga."  He kissed her cheek lightly.

She blushed like a schoolgirl.  "Ach, stop that now, my husband will not like it.  Oh, and you've brought your beautiful girl, have you?  Come, love, give us a kiss."

Anne dutifully kissed the woman's other cheek.  "Hello, Marga."

"So, you come to see the wedding, do you?  Maybe get him inspired to get off his _dupa_ and have one of his own, yes?"

The photographer shook her head.  "He doesn't want the wedding, just the reception.  And the _szarlotka_. 

Without glancing back, Marga swooped her hand behind her and slapped Mickey's arm just as he was reaching for a pinch of pastry.  "The reception and the honeymoon, if I know him."

"We'll get around to it," Mickey promised.

"Soon," Marga insisted.  "I am an old woman, you know."

"You're not all that old, Marga."  He leaned closer.  "You look a lot younger than most of these old birds."

"Oh, you."  She took up her spatula and cut him a piece of _makowiec_ – poppy seed roll – as big as his hand.  "There, there, you sweet-talker.  That's what you're after, isn't it."

"Well," Mickey said, around a mouthful of pastry, "for starters."

"Too dry?" Marga worried.

"No, it's perfect.  It's always perfect, when you make it."

The old woman flushed again.  Then she noticed the other women for what seemed like the first time.  "Oh, you've brought guests."

"I have," Mickey said.  "I told them you make the best sweets in the whole city, but they didn't believe me, so I had to bring them to try for themselves."

"Oh, you are so full of baloney, you are!" she answered.  But she took a plate from the big waiting stack and served them each a tiny piece of the pastry.  "It should be good, I've been practicing for nearly a century."

"And the practice has paid off," Mickey said, licking his fingers.  "It's perfect."  The pastry gone, he turned more attentively to the business at hand.  "This young lady is Becky Baker.  She's getting married next Saturday."

"Oh, but she's just a child!" Marga exclaimed.  She took Becky's face in both soft hands and kissed her forehead.  "Oh, blessings on you, child." 

"Th-thank you."

"And this is Kay Wesley, the groom's mother, and this is Lily Romanov.  They just came from the Roosevelt Hotel, where the reception will be."

"Why?  You have the reception here, our food is twice as good as that snobby place!"

"We'd love to," Lily said smoothly, "but the social hall was already booked."

"Ah."

"The food is okay there," Lily continued, "but their desserts are awful."

"I am not surprised," Marga said primly.  "They know nothing about quality, about tradition.  With them it is all about fast and cheap."

"Exactly," Mickey said.  "Which is why I brought them here."

"We'd like to know," Kay said, "if you – your ladies – could make desserts for the reception. We're expecting about two hundred people."

Marga considered her for a moment.  "It would be difficult.  We have a wedding here to cater, as you say."   

"We understand.  But your pastry is so superior to theirs …"

The old woman nodded thoughtfully.  "There is a charge, you know.  For catering."

"Of course."

"I will talk to my sisters.  We will see."

Kay said, "We really need an answer today …"

"I call you on Monday.  Tomorrow I rest, as our Lord commands.  Monday I will talk to my sisters."

"But …" Kay began in exasperation.

"Monday would be fine," Mickey said quickly.  "You can call McCall's apartment.  Let me write down the number …"

He waved vaguely, and Lily put a business card in his hand.  "Monday would be fine," he repeated.   "Can I have another piece?"

Marga sighed.  "Don't you ever feed this man?" she demanded of Anne. "Every time I see him, he acts like he's starving."

"She feeds me," Mickey confided.  "But she's nowhere near as good a cook as you."

Marga gave him another huge slab of pastry and they made their way out.

"Well," Kay said, "that wasn't very helpful.  We really need an answer right away.  Either she can or she can't."

"She can," Mickey promised, "and she will."

"How can you be sure?" 

He shrugged.  "I know Marga.  She doesn't like to be pushed around.  But she loves the idea of having her food up in that fancy hotel.  Trust me.  She's in."

"She'd better be."

Mickey glanced at Lily, who shrugged.  "Okay," he said.  "I'm gonna go."

"Thanks for your help," Lily said.

"Yes," Becky added, "thank you."

"No problem."  He looked to Anne.  "You want to ride back with me?"

"No," she said slowly.  "I think I'm going to stay a while more. If that's okay?"  She glanced to Lily first and then to Kay.  "I'm getting some great ideas for pictures.  Like in the kitchen there."

"Okay," he said.  "See ya."

"Now what?" Becky asked, a bit wearily.

"Back to Robert's, I suppose," Kay said.  "We'd better check our list and see what else we're missing."

"There had better be coffee," Lily said.

 ***

"Try this," Robert said to the ladies around his desk. 

They tried it, each of them, a tiny bite of one piece of cake.

A moment of silence passed.  They each reached for their own little carry-out container.

"Oh, my God," Kay said warmly.

Lily took a second bite and savored it.  "I think I need a cigarette."

"How did you find this?" Becky asked.  "I've never had anything like it. It's like … like angel food, only with body to it …"

"That is too good to be real," Anne pronounced.

"I know people," Robert said lightly.  He was very, very pleased.  ""I think this will do.  This will do very nicely."

"We need this cake," Becky said.

"We need to order it today," Kay agreed.  "Where is it?"

Robert grimaced.  "Yonkers."

Lily glanced at her watch and stood up – gathering the rest of her cake to take with her.  "We need to go right now, then."

"Me, too?" Anne asked.

"Of course," Becky said quickly.  "There might be more cake."

"Oh, we definitely need another sample," Kay said. 

"Where, Yonkers?"  Lily asked.

McCall handed her the map on the back of the flyer. 

She took a look and shook her head.  "Sterno.  Lovely man, miserable directions.  Got a street map?"

He did.  They consulted it together.  Kay stuck her head over the map, but stayed uncharacteristically silent.  Robert glanced between her and Lily.  There was something, definitely.  Some tension that they were both too polite, or too angry, to acknowledge.  But it didn't seem to be interfering with the wedding plans.  If anything, Kay had been more cooperative than ever.

"We're off," Lily announced confidently, and they were.

Robert paced his suddenly-quiet apartment contentedly.  He stuffed the ladies' abandoned coffee cups in the dishwasher and started it.  He tidied a bit.  Then he went and looked at the white board that had taken over his study.

Flowers, he mused.  Lily had taken Pete's suggestion about the church flowers, but there would need to be bouquets and buttoniers and such.   And flowers for the receptions.  And probably a hundred other kinds of flowers he'd forgotten he was expected to pay for.

Pete O'Phelan had been working in a flower shop when he'd found out that the restaurant was closed.  But she was years from that now.  He wondered if Barry Konig was still in business.  If he was, Robert did not feel the least bit bad about asking him to rush this job through for him.  He had saved the man's life.  He would, however, have to pay full price. 

Robert nodded thoughtfully and went out.

 ***

It was called The Bavarian Pastry Shop, and it looked, as Sterno had said, like a hole in the wall. But the inside smelled like heaven.  Hot, humid, sugary heaven.

There was a woman in her twenties at the counter, with a baby on her hip.  She listened to their questions, frowning.  "Next Saturday?" she asked, incredulous.  "A week from today?  For how many people?"  
 

"Two hundred, maybe two fifty," Kay repeated.

The woman shook her head.  "I don't know.  I'll have to ask Mama."  She turned her head away from the baby and shouted, "Mama!"

The woman's mother was somewhere between fifty and a hundred, and she was not pleased at being disturbed.  The two women spoke quickly, loudly, in German.

Kay said, very softly, "I took German in high school, but I'm not getting any of this."

"I am," Lily answered.

"They think we're crazy," Anne said.

"You speak German, too?" Becky asked.

"I don't have to.  Look at their hands."

The conversation went on for several minutes.  Then the older woman turned to them.  "Pay in advance.  Full.  I make your cake."

"Okay," Lily said, producing Robert's credit card.

The woman smiled broadly.  "Come back, come back.  We pick a cake."

 ***

"I forgot," Becky said, simmering in traffic on the way back, "I need some kind of veil or something.  There wasn't one with the dress."

"I didn't have one," Kay said.  "I just had a wreath of fresh flowers."  She shrugged.  "It was the sixties, you know.  What kind of veil do you think you'd like?"

"I don't know, really.  Not one of those crown things.  I'd feel ridiculous."

"Mmm.  Well, as warm as it's likely to be, I don't think you want anything heavy."

"No."

"I really think you should just …" Then Kay stopped.

"What?" Becky urged.

"Oh."  Kay waved her hand vaguely.  "It's really up to you, sweetheart.  We could stop and look on the way back.  There's a bridal place up this way, isn't there?"

"About three miles, on the left," Lily answered. 

"Do you mind stopping?"

Lily raised one eyebrow.  "Not at all."

"What were you going to say?" Becky asked again.

"Oh, well, it's really up to you.  But you have such pretty shoulders in the dress, you know, it seems like a shame to break up that line.  You'd be lovely with your hair up and some white flowers in it.  But that's just my opinion.  It's really up to you."

"I'd like that," Becky said.  "I don't think it would seem so silly to me."

There was a moment of silence in the car.  "No stop?" Lily asked softly.

"Well, we could stop anyhow," Kay said.  "She might change her mind.  Oh, and I need to buy her a garter.  And what about shoes – do you have white shoes?  A little heel would be good.  Not a lot, we don't want you falling down, but enough to make Scott look less like a giant."

They stopped at the bridal shop and got out of the car.

Trailing behind, alone with Lily, Anne said, "I don't know what Mickey's problem is.  Kay seems perfectly reasonable to me."

 ***

"We need to do something about the flowers," Kay said, back at the apartment.  "I completely forgot about them."

"It's taken care of," Robert said serenely.

"What?"

"It's all been taken care of.  There will be flowers at the hotel, and everything we need for the wedding.  Mixed flowers, some roses, green ribbon.  You'll need to stop by and tell him exactly what shade of green, but other than that it's all arranged."

"You picked flowers without me?" Kay demanded.

"And without Becky, either," Robert observed.

The bride said simply, "Thank you.  I don't think I could decide one more thing today."

Kay sighed loudly.  "Well.  I guess that's that, then."

"What else do we have to get done today?" Lily asked wearily.

They went to the board.  "What's this, test?" Kay asked, pointing.

"I have my final on Monday," Becky said.  "I haven't studied at all."

"Tomorrow you study," Lily decreed.  "Tonight you rest.  Monday you test."

"We need to start inviting people," Kay said.  "I don't know if we'll be able to get everyone on the phone or not, at this late date.  We really should consider postponing this whole thing."

There was a brief silence. 

Kay shrugged.  "We'll split the lists," she said.  "I'll call the people I'm inviting, Becky – or Scott – can call your friends, Robert can call his.  It's the only way to get it done."

"And we'll get the hard copy back from the printers on Monday and get them mailed," Lily added.

"And hope that Marga calls."

"This can be done."

They studied the board in silence. 

"Good," Lily said.  "I'm going home.  Becky, want me to drop you?"  

"Yes, please.  Unless," she looked to Kay, "you need me for anything else?"

"No.  You're exhausted, dear. Lily's right. Go home and rest.  Study tomorrow, and we'll start again after your test on Monday.  I'm going home."

Robert frowned.  "To Connecticut?"

"Yes.  I can call people as well from there as here.  Better, because I won't – you won't – have to pay for every call.  And Walt misses me."

"Oh."

"I'll be back Monday morning," she promised.  "I just need a bit of time to rest myself."

Robert studied her.  There was more to this than she was saying.  It wasn't just that she was tired, though they all were.  There was something sad or hurt about her now.

He glanced at Lily.  There had been tension between them when they arrived in the morning. No, not between them.  Only from Kay.  Lily ignored it, as Lily often ignored unpleasantness.  What had happened between them? 

He shook his head.  Lily would never tell him.  Kay would have come crying to him for protection, but not if she thought she was wrong. 

Kay had been a good deal more civil to her future daughter-in-law all day.

He wondered.

But the women left his apartment without satisfying his curiosity.

 ***

"Oh," Scott said vaguely, "you got the job."

"What?"

They were sprawled on the couch in a heap in front of the fan, too tired to move. "You're going to cook for the road company."

"Oh.  Well.  That makes things better."

"Yeah.  It was the cinnamon rolls."

"Good."

They were quiet for a moment.  "I'm exhausted," Scott said.  "So are you."

"Do you think that guy's still there?"

"At the courthouse?"

"Yes."

"I have fifteen bucks.  We could go now."

They were quiet again.  "It's too much effort to get up," Becky finally said.

"This time next week we'll be married," Scott reminded her.

"Yes, if we're not all dead first."

"Mmm."  He half-turned and kissed the top of her head.  "Well, it's definitely an adventure."

 


	7. Day Seven (Sunday)

Scott slept, blissfully without an alarm clock set.  When he woke it was nearly noon and he was alone.

He staggered to the bathroom, and then to the living room.  Becky was sitting cross-legged on the couch, still in her night shirt, with her accounting book in her lap.  "Hey, sleepy head."

"You should've woke me."

"Why?"

"I don't know.   This is my one day off from rehearsal between now and the wedding.  Don't we have a million things to do?"

"A few," she admitted.  "We have to think about what we're packing up and what we're taking with us.  And review everything, in case you have comments."

"I have no comments," Scott said firmly.  "Whatever you want to do is fine.  Tell me where to be and when."

Becky smiled.  "Chicken."

"Absolutely."

"And we have to get rings."

"Coffee first." Scott went and filled a mug, came back and sat beside her.  "How's the studying coming?"

"It's okay.  Except I keep thinking of things I should do for the wedding.  Things I'm afraid I'll forget."  She shook her head.  "I called Lily three times already.  She told me to make a list and we'd talk about it all tomorrow."

"Smart."

"Uh-huh.  I think she told your mother off."

"What?"

"I'm not sure.  Neither of them said a word about it.  But Kay was pretty much on her best behavior yesterday."

"Huh."  Scott ran his hand through his sleep-disheveled hair.  "I'd love to have heard that one."

"Me, too."

"I'll go shower."

Becky nodded.  "I'll make you some breakfast."

"No, you study, I'll have cereal."

"Okay." 

As soon as the shower started, she put down her book and went to make him eggs and sausage.

 ***

Mira Kalinich's phone rang ten times.  Robert hung on the line patiently.  She might not be home, but it was more likely that she was searching for, and cursing at, her phone.

After the twelfth ring, she picked up. "Kalinich," she barked.

"McCall."

"No, you're McCall.  I'm Kalinich."

"I knew that," he chuckled.

"Ah, that's only because you can actually find your coffee cup, smarty pants."

If you actually put things away, Robert mused, you might be able to find them again.  But he did not say that.  Mira was Mira, and chaos came with the package.  "I have neglected you this week, my dear, and I'd like to make it up to you.  Are you free this afternoon?"

"I could be.  What did you have in mind?"

"A surprise.  Dress casual.  Sensible shoes."

"I only own sensible shoes," Mira pointed out.

"I know," Robert answered.  "And that is one of many reasons I adore you.  I'll pick you up at one.  We'll have lunch."

"All right.  But Robert, I don't feel neglected.  I understand about the wedding."

"And that," he said warmly, "is another reason I adore you.  See you at one."

 ***

The door was closed, but Jason Masur entered without knocking.  Control looked up with no expression on his face.  "What?"

"We need to chat, Control."

"I'm busy."

Masur deposited himself in one of the casual chairs across from Control's desk.  "There are operatives in the city, Control."

Control concentrated on the papers before him.  "I know," he answered without looking up.

"A lot of operatives.  Hell, half the operatives on your payroll are in the city.  You having some kind of convention or something I don't know about?"

Control still refused to make eye contact.  "It's summer.  They're using up vacation time."

"Control."  Masur rose, planted his left hip on the edge of the desk.  "You may not have noticed, but the Balkans are turning into a giant shitpool."

The spymaster glanced up briefly, then back down.  "Don't sit on my desk."

"Your operatives aren't doing me any good in New York, Control."

"I am aware of the situation," Control answered tightly.

With a regretful sigh, Jason rose and rounded the desk to stand directly over him.  "I want your people in Europe.  Now."

Control looked up at him.  Then he pushed back from his desk and rose slowly to his feet.  "My people, Jason.  They are my people."  He was much taller than Masur, and the man had been so close that he now loomed over him.  "They will be in Europe when I need them there.  But for now, they're right where I want them to be."

"In Europe.  Now."  Masur met his eyes, challenging him, for a moment.  Then he looked away, trying to make it seem casual.  "Unless you're just keeping all of them here for the wedding." 

"I'll send them when I need to send them."  Control didn't move his feet, but he leaned slightly towards the shorter man, the loom becoming intentionally menacing. 

"I'm not the only one who's noticed, Control.  The Directors are – anxious."

Control did take a step closer then.  "The Directors can talk to me directly about their anxieties, Jason.  You are not their messenger."

The man blinked, and Control knew he was right.  Masur was here on his own initiative.  Running his own game.  "What is it you really want?"

For a moment, he could see Jason considering a denial.  Then he said, "I need to move a – package – out of Sarajevo."

"A package."

"A young man.  Serbian."

There was something half a note off, to Control's practiced ear.  "Why is he important?"

Masur flared.  "Because I say he is.  You don't get to demand explanations, Control.  You just do what you're told.  Get him out."

Control considered him for a long moment.  The reddening cheeks, the flared nostrils.  The pupils just a hint too open.  The breathing just a bit too fast. 

Masur must have been completely desperate to come to him.  Or else the fool thought Control was the least dangerous of his options.

He shrugged uncaringly.  "Leave me the information.  I'll see what I can do."

"You'll get him out, Control. And you'll do it soon."

"I'll do what I can," the spymaster repeated calmly.  He sat down and resumed his paperwork, ignoring the fact that Jason was now practically leaning on his shoulder.  Then he said, bored, "Was there something else?"

"Keep me informed."

Control grunted.  After a minute, Jason stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Control glanced up to be sure he was alone.  Then he sat back, his fingers laced behind his head.  Information had always fascinated him.  Information that Jason Masur didn't want him to have was especially attractive.  It would requite subtlety, of course.  No point in tipping his hand.  A delicate touch, obtaining and keeping this information.  But Control knew just the person.

He was in no hurry, though.  He's send her when the situation genuinely called for it. 

 ***

"Those?" Becky asked.

Scott peered down through the glass counter.  "I like them."  The bands were simple, platinum, with three horizontal lines etched around them. 

The jeweler came over.  "Can I help you?"

"We'd like those wedding bands," Scott said, pointing.

"These?"  The man unlocked the case and drew out the entire tray.  "We have a number of lovely sets …"

"Those," Scott repeated, touching them.  "And we need them sized by next Saturday."

"Friday," Becky corrected.

"By next Friday."

The man raised one eyebrow.  "In a hurry, are we?"

"We're leaving the country."

"Oh."  The clerk took the model number down and got the sizing rings.  "They are rather expensive."

"Doesn't matter," Scott said.  Then he grinned.  "You'll take a check, right?"

"Uh … with proper ID."

Becky giggled.  "Do you think it will clear the bank before Friday?"

"Uh … I'm sure it will."

"Oh."  They shared a long look.  Scott said.  "Well, that'll probably be okay."

The clerk eyed them darkly.  But he filled out the order form and took their check without comment.

When they were gone, he wrote across the bottom of the order, 'Confirm funds before releasing'.

 ***

"I know it's terribly short notice," Kay said, for perhaps the fiftieth time.  "But Scott's getting married next Saturday."

Walt brought a glass of ice water and set it by her elbow.  He glanced casually at her list.  She was apparently more than half done.  He listened again as she went through the litany of times and places, and as she launched into the mandatory explanation of her son's European tour.  She was getting better at it.  The speech was becoming more streamlined, more concise.

Her voice was getting hoarse.

The dryer buzzed, and Walt went and swapped the laundry around.  Kay had said she was coming home to look after him, but so far he'd done all the household chores while she hung on the phone with her friends and relatives. 

Still, he didn't mind.  From what he'd heard of the planning process, he'd gotten off light.  If all he had to do was fold his own towels, while Robert McCall was shelling out major bucks for this extravaganza, he was more than happy to fold.

He returned from his laundry trip just as Kay hung up the phone.  "I'm exhausted," she announced.

"I bet you are," Walt said.  "Take a break.  Let's go for a walk."

She shook her head.  "Too hot."

"No, it's much cooler today.  Nice breeze.  Half an hour, Kay.  You'll feel better."

She sighed heavily.  "I should finish this list."

"Kay."  He held his hand out to her.  "You can finish when we get back.  We'll walk down to the corner and get an iced coffee."

"Tempting."

"It's Sunday.  They'll have fresh pastry."

"Walt."  Kay shook her head.  "You know all my weaknesses."

"I do," he agreed.  "Get your shoes."

They went out.  Kay walked swiftly at first, as if she were on mission rather than a stroll.  But after an achingly fresh cream cheese Danish and a huge iced coffee, she slowed down and held his hand while they strolled under the shade trees.

"You're right," Kay admitted.  "This was just what I needed."

"I know."

"I still have so much to do.  I have to finish these calls, and then tomorrow we need to pick up the invitations and get them stuffed and mailed – the envelopes are pretty much addressed, except those few we need to look up, but I have to remember to stop for stamps, and then there's …"

"Kay."

She stopped.  Then she laughed.  "You're right, of course.  I need to take a break."

They walked.  "How's Robert been?" Walt asked.

"He's been remarkably good," Kay admitted.  "A bit – absent – but that's Robert.  At least he hasn't squawked about paying for anything.  Well, he insisted on a buffet dinner, but I suppose that's for the best anyhow.  Imagine me calling all these people and asking, 'Can you come to the wedding, and would you prefer chicken or beef?'"  She sighed.  "And as much as I hate to admit it, Lily has been a great help."

Walt frowned.  "His girlfriend?"

"He says not.  I don't know.  She's very young for him, but – well, that's Robert, too.  She is very beautiful.  If you like skinny women."

Walt shook his head.  "I can't imagine what he sees in her.  A woman that much younger."

"She's one of them," Kay answered at once.  "You know.  Company.  He doesn't have to keep secrets from her.  I'm sure that makes her very attractive."

"But you don't think there's a relationship there?"

Kay shook her head.  "I don't know why he'd bother to lie about it.  He's never been very big on protecting my feelings before."

They walked a bit more.  Carefully, Walt said, "How are you feeling about the girl?"

"Becky?  It doesn't much matter how I feel about her, does it?"

"Robert's girl.  Yvette."

"Oh."  Kay was silent for a long moment.  "I don't know.  Angry, hurt, betrayed.  And curious.  Robert says he never knew about her until a few years ago – and again, why would he bother to lie?  And if Scott had known any longer than that, he would have let it slip before now.  So I guess I have no grounds to be hurt."

"But you are, anyhow," Walt said gently.

"I am.  And especially in light of losing Cathy …" She sighed.  "Lily said something that I can't let go of.  I mean, I want to just dismiss it, but it won't go away."

"What did she say?"

"That Becky and Cathy would be the same age.  And that Becky wants her mother back as badly as I still want my daughter back.  That maybe if I wasn't so damn stubborn, maybe we could be some comfort to each other."

"Is she right?" Walt asked quietly.

"I don't know."  They walked a bit more.  "It hurts to think so.  I mean, it feels like I'd be betraying my real daughter, if I let myself … if I …" Kay stopped and blotted her eyes with her fingertips. 

"She's not a substitute," Walt said.  "She's not a replacement for Cathy. But think about it this way.  If your daughter had lived, and Scott was getting married, would you have a hard time accepting his bride as your new daughter?"

        

Kay said, "Oh."  And then, a bit later, "Oh.  You're right, of course.  She's not a substitution.  She's an addition."

"Yes."

She tucked her arm closer through her husband's.  "And if Cathy were still here …"

"She'd be celebrating having a new sister."

"I hadn't thought about it that way."  Kay shook her head.  "Of course, if I'd had a chance to get to know this girl a little better …" And then," But Scott tried, didn't he, and I didn't want anything to do with her.  I just wanted to ignore her until she went away.  Only she's not going to o away, is she?"

Walt shrugged.  "She seemed like a perfectly nice young lady to me."

"How did you get so wise?" Kay laughed.

"Oh, no, I'm not wise.  I only did one wise thing in my life, and that was marrying you."

 ***

"We should get gifts, while we're out," Becky said.

"Gifts?"

"For Mickey and Yvette.  And Lily, and Annie.  And your mother and father.  Thank you gifts."

"Okay," Scott said agreeably. "Do you have any idea what to buy any of those people?"

"I was hoping you did."  Becky grinned.  "I don't suppose we can actually buy Mickey a blow dart."

"We can, but then he'll want to use it on Mom."

"Mmmm."

"It might be a good idea," he admitted.  "This, uh, might be a really good time for your psychic thing to kick in."

Becky screwed her mouth up into a grimace.  "Yes, but of course it never works when I want it to.  The only clear vision I've had lately was …" She stopped, shuddered.

"Bad?"  Scott moved closer, put his arm around her.

"Confusing.  People were all going away." 

"Well, we're going away," he pointed out.

"That wasn't it.  And we're coming back.  They weren't."

Scott frowned.  "People we know?"

"I don't know."  Becky shook her head.  "There were so many of them, and they were moving so fast …ugh."  She shook her head again, hard.  "I don't want to think about it.  Let's just walk and see what looks good."

"Okay."  He shifted his arm to her waist, still close, still protective.  "Okay." 

 *** 

Mira stopped on the stoop and stared.  "You have got to be kidding."

McCall stepped grandly down from the carriage.  "I do not kid, Madam, when I am devoting a romantic afternoon to a lovely lady.  If you will?"

"Oh, my."  He took her hand.  Mira hesitated.  "I'm … a little afraid of horses."

"Are you?"  Robert paused.  "Well, then, you should come and meet Vivian.  She is the sweetest horse in the city, or so our driver tells me."  He led her casually to the horse's head, reached out to pat the gray's soft nose.  The mare curled her lip and brushed it across his fingertips.  "There, you see?"

Mira regarded the horse skeptically.  "She's trying to eat you."

"No, if she meant to bite me I'd be bleeding.  She's seeing if I've brought her a treat."

The horse shuddered a fly away and Mira stepped back.  "She's big."

"Well, yes."

She stepped forward again, reached out very slowly and touched the horse's neck.  "She's warm."

"Yes." 

Vivian tossed her head impatiently, and Mira stepped back again.  Robert smiled gently, leaned towards the horse.  She lipped at his ear.  "She says," he announced, "that's she'd like to take us to the park."

"Oh, she would, would she?"

"She would.  She promises to be on her best behavior and not do anything to startle you."

"She promises?"

He leaned forward and let the horse nuzzle his head again.  "She promises."

Mira touched the mare's neck again, then stroked it very softly.  "She's pretty."

"Yes, she is."

"All right, then.  To the park."

Robert grinned.  He patted the horse one last time, then led Mira back to the carriage and helped her in.  When they were settled, he leaned forward and said, "All right, Roger, we're ready to go.  Nice and smooth, all right?"

"You got it, Mr. McCall.  Come on, Viv, let's go to the park."

The mare tossed her head again and started off at a sedate walk.

"All right?" Robert asked, settling back with his arm around his lady.

"You really are a hopeless romantic, aren't you?"

"Oh, no, no.  I am a romantic, yes, but I have great hopes."

 ***

They stopped by the music store so Scott could buy spare strings for his violin.  "We should be able to get them anywhere," he explained, "but it makes me feel better to have them with me."

Becky said, "We need cello strings."

"Huh?"

"Cello strings."

"I don't play the cello."

"Lily needs them."

Scott blinked.  "I don't think Lily plays the cello, either."

"She needs them.  It's … it's … it can be her gift."

"Ah."  He did not argue with her intuition, though it made no sense to him.  He bought both sets of strings. 

 ***

The sun grew hot, but the breeze was cool.  Robert found a grassy spot under a shady tree and spread the heavy red plaid blanket.  Mira sat where he indicated and watched in amazement as he unpacked the picnic basket.  First there was champagne, in fluted crystal glasses.  "To you, my dearest Mira," Robert toasted, and they sipped.  Then he brought out china plates and real silverware.

"I thought," Mira ventured, "that picnics involved paper plates."

"Those are American picnics," Robert said.  "This, on the other hand, is a proper British picnic.  No paper plates.  No plastic forks.  And absolutely no over-cooked or undercooked food products on sticks over open flames."  He opened a golden-wrapped serving dish.  "Roast duck."  The next was herbed wild rice.  There was green salad with sugared walnuts and mandarin oranges.  A bowl of huge, perfect strawberries.   One package he put back, unopened.  "Dessert," he explained.  "It's a surprise."

"Good heavens," Mira said.  "If I didn't know better, Robert, I'd think you were trying to seduce me."

"Oh, no, no.  Not at a proper British picnic.  At least, not in the middle of the afternoon."  He smiled.  "We’ll get to that closer to sundown."

"Oh."

"But I have neglected you, rather shamefully, and I do apologize.  And you have been marvelously gracious about it, and I thought I would like to do something appropriately gracious for you in return."

Mira studied him frankly.  "This is a side of you I don't think I've seen before, Robert."

He busied himself filling their plates.  "Well, perhaps it's a side of me that I should let out more often."

"Just once in a while.  Otherwise I'll feel terribly inadequate."

"I meant the appreciation for your patience, not the proper British picnic."

"This is delicious."  Mira tried everything on her plate, slowly.   She was comfortable in silence with Robert, which he treasured about her best of all.  "So how goes the wedding planning?"

"It goes," he said.  "Kay seems to have everything well in hand."

"Kay?  Not Becky?"

"Becky is merely a willing victim, I fear."

"Ahh.  And how are you and Kay getting on?"

Robert sighed.  "We're managing to be civil, mostly.  For the sake of the children."  He drained his champagne glass and refilled it.  "She did not take the news about Yvette particularly well."

"I imagine not.  When will she be here?"

"Yvette?  Tomorrow."

"I look forward to meeting her."

"Oh, you shall," Robert promised.  "She's going to live in Scott's apartment while he's abroad."

"Really?"  Mira smiled.  "That's convenient for everybody."

"Yes.  I'm pleased about the whole arrangement.  I don't really know Yvette very well.  I look forward to spending time with her.  But this week won't be easy, with her and Kay together."

"Well," Mira said philosophically, "perhaps now that Kay's had time to adjust to the idea, it will go better than you expect."

"From your mouth to God's ear."

"Is there anything I can do to help?  With the wedding?"

Robert shook his head.  "Not so far, thank you.  Between Kay and Lily, they seem to have things under control."

"Ah, you've gotten the mysterious Lily involved."

"Scott recruited her, actually.  She's being Switzerland."

"Between Kay and Becky?"

"Yes."

"More like Poland, if you ask me.  Trampled by opposing armies."

"No, no.  No one tramples Lily Romanov.  Certainly not Kay."

"Interesting.  And do I get to meet her, too?"

McCall hesitated.  "She's Company."

"And you've taken great pains to keep me away from your Company friends, I've noticed."

"I have," he admitted.

"Afraid they'll tell me about your wicked past?" she teased.

Robert shook his head gravely.  "No.  Afraid you'll piece it together from things they say in passing.  One of the hazards of keeping company with a historian, I'm afraid, is that you're far too good at putting things in historical context."

"Were you really that bad?" Mira asked.

"I was," Robert said firmly.  "I always told myself it was for a greater good, served a higher purpose – but I was among the worst of them."

"And now you've changed."

"I tell myself I've changed."

"I've seen how you've changed.  I've seen the people you've helped."

McCall shrugged.  "It would be better, Mira …"

"Oh, stop it.  I'm not a child.  You don't need to protect me from who you used to be."

"I know."  He took her hand and kissed it.  "And for that I am profoundly grateful.  But there are things … things that would frighten you, and things that I am deeply ashamed of.  And I would rather you never met any of my former associates."

Mira pursed her lips, but she nodded her agreement.  "As you wish."

"But," Robert continued, "as much as I might wish that, a great many of them will be at the wedding, and they are all dying to meet you."

"Oh."  Mira brightened considerably.  "Well. I look forward to it, then."

"At least one of us does."

 ***

"If we empty one closet and one dresser …" Scott began.

"Yes," Becky agreed.  "She can't bring all that much on the plane with her, can she?"

"Unless she ships it ahead."

Becky groaned.  "Well, let's make a pile in the living room of all the stuff that's going with us.  And then we'll see what's left in here.  Maybe we can consolidate."

"That's a plan."

"The kitchen's okay as it is – we don't even have to empty the refrigerator.  And the bathroom's fine.  It's really just in here.  We can box it up and have Mickey take it to Lily's place."

Scott nodded.  "Or we can just haul the boxes up and put them in Mira's apartment.  She'd never notice a few more."

His bride smacked his arm.  "Stop it.  You were a pack-rat too when we met."

"I was not."

"You had fifty-seven plastic cups from Taco Bell."

"Well, yeah, but I used them all."

"Because you never washed dishes."

"That's beside the point.  I used them."  He frowned.  "Speaking of pack-rats, I have to call Rory."

"I thought he wasn't speaking to you."  Rory had been the keyboard played in the band Scott was in; he'd taken it very personally when the other band members announced that they needed to leave the band and make a living.

"He isn't, but if I get him to play the wedding, I'm sure he'll get over it."

"Just Rory?" Becky asked.

"He has a new band.  Same music, new players."

"Oh.  Okay."  Becky shook her head.  "I have got to get a couple more hours of studying in."

"All right.  You pull out the stuff you're taking and then study.  I'll grab my stuff, box up the rest, and make dinner."  She looked at him again.  "Okay, I'll order dinner.  And go pick it up.  Deal?"

"Deal."

 ***

"You promised me dessert," Mira said, much later, as they settled back in the carriage.

"I did," Robert answered.  He opened the basket again and found a Thermos bottle of steaming coffee and two small china cups.  Mira held while he poured, and while he found the last full serving dish.  "For such an elegant meal, there is only one dessert that will possibly do."

"I can't even begin to guess."

"Of course you can.  It's your favorite."

"My favorite?"

"Yes.  Your favorite sweet."

"That would be you, Robert."

He grinned.  "Your second-favorite sweet, then."

"That would be …" her eyes lit as he removed the last cover, "Twinkies!"

"Twinkies.  Are you surprised?"

"I'm delighted.  But these hardly seem to fit with the proper British picnic."

Robert shrugged.  "Well, we must make certain concessions to being in the colonies, you know."

Mira threw her head back and laughed out loud.

 ***

"Mickey?"

"Out here."

Anne walked to her door and peered out.  Mickey was sitting on the steps, rather hunched over.  "You okay?"

"Fine."  He sat up and half-turned, a dress shoe over one hand and a buffing cloth in the other.

"Oh."  She went out and sat beside him.  She had a stack of proof sheets in her hand.  "I don't think I've ever seen you polish shoes before."

"Usually I just throw them out."  He continued to work on the shoe until it reflected the setting sunlight.  "Special occasion.  How's the proofs?"

Anne sighed.  "The church is good.  The hotel's going to be tricky.  All those big windows.  Easy to catch glare."

"You'll handle it."

"I just don't want to screw this up.  They should have hired a professional."

"Annie, babe, you _are_ a professional.  You have three books and a whole shelf full of awards to prove it."

"Yeah, but those weren't weddings."

Mickey sighed.  "The pictures will be great."

"I don't know."

"You've spent too much time with Kay."

"What?"

Satisfied with the first shoe, Mickey put it down and started on the second.  "Kay McCall has impossibly high expectations of everything and everyone.  She drives Robert bonkers because he can't live up to them.  And now she's getting to you."

"I don't know.  She was really pretty reasonable when I was with them."

"Trust me.  The pictures will be fine."

"I hope so."  Anne glared at the proofs some more, then looked away.  Her neighborhood was settling down, the children starting to trickle in for baths and bedtime stories.  The older teens were coming out, quietly.  Not attracting their parents' attention.  "I kinda like this."

"What?"

"Shooting the wedding.  It's different from – well, being in a war zone."

Mickey raised an eyebrow.  "Not that much different."

Anne elbowed him.   "It's a slower pace. I can take my time, think about the shots.  About what I want.  And everybody's happy."

"And nobody's getting blown to pieces," Kostmayer offered.  "You could do this, you know.  Set up a little shop here, do weddings and bar mitzvahs and proms.  You might like it."

"And miss everything in Europe?"

"I wish to hell you would."

They were silent for a moment.  "Mickey …"

"I know.  I'm just saying, if you like this, there's nothing that says you can't sit out a war or two.  God knows there'll always be another one."

Anne hesitated.  "It's going to be bad, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah.  It's gonna be bad."

"But you're still going."

Mickey looked at her.  "I'm still going."

"Well," she said slowly, "maybe if I'm there we could meet up somewhere.  You know."

"Meet up or hook up?"

"Yeah."

Kostmayer grinned slowly.  "You used to be such a respectable girl."

"Right up until I met you."

He shook his head.  "I'll see what I can arrange."

"Oh, good."

 ***

After sundown, Becky put her book away.  "That's it.  If I don't know it by now, I never will.  My brain won't soak up any more."

"Good," Scott said.  "Come see."

She followed him into the bedroom.  He proudly displayed his entirely empty dresser and two empty drawers in hers, plus an empty closet.  There were five cardboard boxes in the hall, ready to move.  "Perfect," she pronounced.  "Thank you."

They trailed back to the living room and gazed at the massive pile of things they'd decided to take.  "That's pretty much ridiculous," Becky said.

"Yeah," Scott agreed.  "We may need to cut that down some."

"I don't think I even own a suitcase any more."

"Maybe we can borrow some from Dad."

"True."

"Tomorrow," Scott said.  "We'll deal with that tomorrow.  Rory's in, by the way."  He flopped onto the couch.  "C'mere."

Becky sat down and leaned against him.  "Sunday night."

"Young Ones," he agreed at once.

He turned on the TV and they watched back-to-back episodes of raunchy, silly British sit-coms.  "Now I feel better," Becky announced.

"Good."  Scott clambered to his feet.  "We should go to bed."

Becky took his hand and let him pull her to his feet.  "I'm not all that tired for a change."

"Even better."

 ***

At ten, Robert's telephone rang.  He growled at it.

"If you don't answer," Mira said sleepily, "it'll be Kay announcing that she's come back tonight."

"I don't care," he answered.

"You took away her key?"

"She never had one."

"Clever man."

Five minutes later it rang again.  Grumbling, but more awake, Robert threw on his robe and stomped to the kitchen.  "Robert McCall."

Mira stayed in bed, listening drowsily.  From her lover's voice, there was no major emergency.  He seemed to be talking to a friend, about the wedding.  In a few minutes he returned and slid under the sheets next to her.  "Problem?"

"No, no.  Old friend.  Richard.  He's … also Company.  Was.  He's retired.  Heard about the wedding somehow."

"Will he be there?"

"Richard?  No.  No, no.  But he is sending a gift, of sorts."

"That's nice of him."

"Yes."

They were silent for a time.  "You're worried, aren't you?  About the wedding?"

"No, no.  Well, yes, but no.  Not really.  Whatever happens, it will be fine."

Mira nodded.  "About your friends, then."

Robert shifted.  "You know the history of the Balkans as well as I do."

"Old history.  Not so much currently."

"Old history, new history.  It's all the same, there.  Wars last a thousand years, old rivalries, old grudges … what's coming is just the latest battle.  And my friends will be there.  And some of them may not return."

"You can't help that, Robert."

"Well, that's just it, you see.  Perhaps if I was there with them, I could help them.  Some of them.  Perhaps if I went, a few more of them would come home."

Mira was silent, but her arms shifted to comfort him.

"But then, too, I know that if I went there, if I let myself be drawn back into that … world, I would destroy myself.  I know how much I can endure before I break, and I have already done so.  One more lie, one more betrayal …"

Then he stopped.  He had been around this circle a hundred times, a thousand.  His friends might die if he were not there.  His friends might die if he were. 

But of one outcome Robert McCall was certain:  If he went back to the Company, his soul would surely perish.

He turned in the dark and drew his lover close. 

   ***

Control entered the apartment through the little door in the kitchen, as he always did.  It was far safer, more concealed.  Secretive.  Everything about the whole damn relationship was secretive.

He locked the door behind him and waited while his eyes adjusted to the dark.  The apartment was silent.  He knew Lily would not be sleeping.  She would have been awake from the first turn of his key in the lock.

He ran his hand through his hair, then across his face. His five o'clock shadow was a day old.  He'd needed a hair cut a week ago, and a shower at least two days ago. 

He shouldn't have come here.  He should have gone to his own apartment and cleaned up, gotten some sleep – Lord, but he was bone-weary.  But there were some rests better than others, and none in this world for him better than in his woman's arms.

She wouldn't care what he looked like.

He paused at the kitchen.  He was hungry again.  But he was more tired.  He walked into the bedroom, closed the door behind him and locked it. If someone came after them here, that lock would give then five extra seconds, tops.  But five extra seconds, when you were Control, could be the difference between being the killer and the killed.

"Hey," Lily said quietly in the dark.

"Hey," he said back.  He shed his clothes into a heap at the foot of the bed.  They'd been rumpled when he'd left the office; no one would expect them to be less rumpled when he got back.    

He heard, as much as saw, her arms stretch out to him in the darkness.  "Come."

"I should shower."

"Later."

Grateful, exhausted, he slid under the covers next to her.  Lily rolled towards him, put her head on his shoulder, her arm across his chest, her leg over his.  He could feel his tension draining away, and almost immediately he began to drift towards sleep.  She was fresh, clean, and he wasn't.  "I should …" he began.

Her lips covered his.  "You should sleep," she murmured. 

"Mmmm."  Four hours, he decided as he slid from consciousness.  It was the most continuous sleep he'd had in weeks. Four hours.  Four …

 


	8. Day Six (Monday)

Control did not dream, or if he did, at least they were not the dreams that woke him screaming.  In four hours – he knew without looking that it had been exactly four hours, within a minute or two – he woke.  He was sleeping on his side, and Lily was face-down beside him, her hand resting lightly against his chest, his firmly on the small of her back.  It didn't seem to matter any more how they fell asleep; they always woke up touching.

The change in his breathing was enough to wake her; Lily's brown eyes fluttered open.  "Morning," she said.

"Is it?  I can't keep track any more."

She moved her hand from his chest to his chin, where there was now three or four day's growth.  "I kinda like this," she teased gently.

"Mmm.  I thought it'd make me look daring."

"Daring.  Sure."  She caressed his jaw.  "As Don Johnson says, it makes you look like you didn't sleep in your own bed last night."

"Which I didn't.  But I suppose I'd better shave before I go back, just so no one realizes that."

Lily moved closer, kissed him invitingly.  "In a while."

"You'll get beard burn," he warned. 

"I hope so."

"And I smell awful," he protested.

"You smell like you."  Lily squirmed, bringing her breasts tight against his body.  "And so do I."

His mind resisted.  The phrase 'drive-by sex life' echoed through his thoughts.  Six hours away from the office, and he didn't want to calculate that it was time for sleep, shower, shave, supper, and screwing.  He didn't want it to be just sex, just another satisfaction of a biological need.  And yet – there wasn't time for more, for romance and relationships, not now.  Barely time for conversation.  And Lily knew that as well as he did.

He wanted a weekend of lovemaking.  But that wasn't on the schedule anywhere in the visible future. 

Quick sex was a poor substitute.  But perhaps it was better than no substitute at all.

And while his mind was busy resisting, his body, and hers, had gone ahead without him. 

It did not feel as if Lily was simply sacrificing her body to his lusts.  She was a full-blooded participant.  She always had been.  He knew that she enjoyed him, enjoyed herself. 

It was the only thing that made the substitution bearable.

"I wish I could stay," he murmured later, while she watched him shave.  He did not understand her fascination with the process – though he sometimes thought she was waiting for him to cut his own throat – but it amused him. 

"Me, too."

"How go the wedding plans?"

"Well, no one's killed the mother of the groom yet.  I consider that a great success."

Control winced.  "She can be a challenging woman."

"That's putting it diplomatically.  She reminds me of my grandmother.  Always polite, always perfectly civil, but she can cut you dead with the things she says."

"Yes."  He rinsed his face, considered himself in the mirror, and then started the shaving process all over again.  Noting Lily's questioning eyebrows, he said, "The first time got the stubble.  This time will get it close."

"Oh.  Anyhow, Becky is not nearly good enough for Scott, and I am not nearly good enough for Robert, whom she's convinced I'm screwing … it's really kind of fun."

"Try not to play with her head too much."

Lily pouted.  "But other than that, things are going well.  Considering."

"Are you okay?"

"Okay how?"

"I just thought …" he paused to navigate the razor over his throat and chin, "… this might be a bit difficult for you.  That you might be thinking, if you weren't dating me, you might be planning your own wedding."

Lily laughed out loud.  "You're kidding, right?"

He glanced sidelong at her.  "No?"

"Have I ever been the long white dress and flowers kind of girl?"

"Well … no.  More the barefoot on the beach kind of girl.  But that's not the point."

"You want to know if I regret that we can't be married?"

"Yes."

"No."

"No?"

"Do you?" Lily asked.

Control considered, shaving his left cheek.  "In some ways.  It would be nice to be able to come home to you every night.  And to come in the front door once in a while."

"Agreed.  But even if we were married, you wouldn't be able to do that."

"No."

"I would love to be able to see you every night," Lily said.  "But we would have to be completely different people."

"Do you ever wish we were completely different people?"

"If we were, we wouldn't have ended up together."

Control nodded, rinsing again and checking his face in the mirror.  The shadow had been eliminated, for the moment.  "I know."

She moved closer and kissed him, her hands on his smooth cheeks.  "I dunno.  I kinda liked the beard."

 ***

When his phone rang on Monday morning, signaling the beginning of a new and more undoubtedly more hectic week, Robert McCall went to answer it in great good cheer.  "Good morning!"

"Good morning, it's Kay."

"How are you?"

"Rested," she answered honestly.  "I feel as if I can take this on."

"As do I."

"I have a few calls to finish up this morning, and some other details, so I should get there around noon."

"That's fine.  I'll pass the news along."

The next call was from a much older woman named Marga, who said simply, "Tell your wife we will do it."

"I will tell her," Robert said cheerfully, without bothering to correct her.  He dutifully went and made a note on the edge of the white board.

The next call struck a quiet terror into his heart.  It was Heath.  "She wants you," he announced solemnly.  "Bring the handsome boy."

"We'll be there as soon as we can."

Robert hung up the phone grimly.  He dialed Scott's number, hoping passionately that the boy didn't have rehearsal early.  Madam Olga would not be happy if she had to wait until the end of the day.

 ***

Becky's phone rang before she got out the door.  It was the building superintendent.  "Where do you want all these boxes?"

"Uh … what boxes?"

"You got deliveries down here.  Seven of them.  My son's here, you want him to bring them up?"

"Uh … sure," Becky said carefully.

Five minutes later she was looking at seven empty boxes and ten variously-wrapped wedding presents.  None were, according to the cards, from anyone she knew.

"Oh," she said.  But she didn't have the nerve -- or the time -- to open them.  Scott was still in the shower, anyhow.  She headed out.  

 ***

Lily arrived just as Robert was leaving.  "Off to fetch Scott to Madam Olga's," he explained. "Then I might as well take him to his rehearsal, we'll be half-way there anyhow."

Lily nodded.  "Can you stop at the post office?"

"Of course."

"We need about a hundred stamps.  Those love ones, or flowers or something romantic."

"There is nothing romantic about postage stamps."

"I know, but pretend there is.  Is that a hickey?"

Robert touched his neck.  "Where?"

"Right there."  Lily grinned.  "Enjoyed your afternoon off, did you?"

"Perhaps," Robert allowed warmly.  "Did you?"

Lily smiled.  "Did Marga call?"

"She did.  She said she'd do it.  Who is she?"

"Pastry lady.  I'd better take her a deposit before she changes her mind.  And pick up the invitations."

"You still have checks?"

"Yes."

"Kay will be here at noon," he said briskly, "and Becky should be here after her test.  You need to go see this man," he gave her a card, "and finalize the flower choices.  He has been briefed about the church flowers; pretend to order them to keep Kay happy."

"Can do.  Who's picking up Yvette?"

Robert looked at her.  "Damn."

"I'll see if I can find Mickey."

"Good.  She knows him.  You got her a hotel room?"

"All taken care of."

"Good, good.  We'll see her when we get back, then.  Take her to dinner.  Is there time in the schedule for that?"

Lily frowned.  "Quick supper.  One hour."

"This is ridiculous."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, sweetie."

 ***

Becky Baker had always been nervous about tests, and more so about finals.  It wasn't as bad as speaking in public – her absolute worst nightmare – but it was bad.  It was performance.  She knew that material, and she'd studied, but proving what she knew wracked her with tension.

As the instructor began handing out the final packet, she remembered that she needed to ask Scott if he wanted a new toothbrush before they went.

As the test hit her desk, she wondered if Marga would agree to make the pastries.  If she didn't, Becky could probably handle it herself, but it would be a crunch.  She'd need to borrow a real kitchen, for starters.

She answered the first question, and remembered that she needed to get new nylons for under her wedding dress.  Could she wear knee-highs?  Did they need to be white?  Did it matter?      

Five questions later, she wondered if anyone had remembered to pick up Yvette at the airport. 

At the bottom of the first page, she wondered if Yvette would be staying with Robert or in a hotel.  Given Kay's current attitude, a hotel was probably a better choice.

And what if Scott's sister didn't like Becky?  From what he'd told her, Yvette was a rather urban girl, well-educated and sophisticated.  What if she thought Becky was a hick?

What if she flunked this exam because she wasn't concentrating on it?

She got through the second page before she wondered if Robert had talked to his florist friend.

 ***

"Here," Robert said, "listen to this."  He shoved a cassette into the Jaguar's tape deck.

A mellow tenor voice sang from the speakers, backed by a brass-heavy band, the old standard, 'Always.'

"It's good," Scott said.  "Who is it?"

"Marty Usher and his band.  They're playing at your wedding reception."

"They're what?  No, I already got a band.  Rory's band."

"Jazz?  Your mother will never go along with that."

"It's not jazz, it's New Age."

Robert looked at him. "It's jazz.  You can't dance to it."

"Some of it you can … Dad, he's my friend.  I can’t not have him play my wedding."

Robert sighed.  "All right.  But you have to tell your mother."

Scott nodded.  "She's not going to be happy.  They can't start until ten."

"The reception starts at seven.  Guests will be there earlier than that."

"I know, but they've got real jobs, they can't be there until then."

McCall considered.  "Marty Usher and his band are not young men.  I imagine they'd be glad to be done by ten."

"Ahh."

"I'll call them," Robert said decisively.  "This could work out well for everyone."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Oh," Robert said suddenly, "and Beverly Heat will be singing at the wedding."

Scott squinted at him.  "That's not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be."

"Beverly Heat.  The pop tart?"

"Yes.  She's actually quite a nice young lady."

"You know Beverly Heat?" Scott asked skeptically.

"I do.  And she will be singing at your wedding."

The boy snorted.  "Yeah, right."

Robert smiled thoughtfully.  "You wore clean underwear?" he asked. 

"Underwear?" Scott asked blankly.  "I'm kidding, Dad."

Robert shot him a sour look.  "And you brought your dress shoes?"

"What?"

"Your dress shoes.  For the fitting."

"I … didn't even think about it."

McCall growled.  "Madam will not be pleased."

"Oh, that doesn't sound good."

They went through the back door of the shop.  "Heath," Robert said, "I need a pair of shoes for my son."

Heath puffed.  "What'd he do with the last pair?"

"Left them at home," Scott confessed.

"Oh, Madam will not be happy."

"I told him that," Robert snapped.  "So let us borrow some shoes."

"Please," Scott added.

"Well, since you asked so charmingly."  Heath flounced away.

"Can I ask you something?" Scott asked softly.

"You can ask," Robert allowed.

"What did you do for him?"

"I recovered some photos that would have jeopardized his business."

"What kind of photos?"

Heath returned with the shoes.  "Don't scuff them," he warned.

Scott took the shoes and they made their hesitant way up the narrow steps. 

 ***

The blinding light was already on, and Madam Olga was waiting impatiently.  "Strip, strip, do you think I have all day?"

Scott peeled off his shirt obediently.

"Try this on.  First the shirt.  Here, here, mind the pins."

"Yes," Scott said nervously.  "Don't want to scratch myself."

"Ach, scratch yourself raw, I don't care.  Just don't bleed on my clothes!"

 ***

There was something faintly sinister, Becky thought, about walking out the front door of her school building and finding a black Mercedes idling in her path. Her classmates, who had been grumbling fearfully about the final, fell silent for a moment.  As she walked with feigned confidence to the car, she heard the murmuring resume.  They knew Scott and his Beetle.  This wasn't it.

She grinned.  Let them wonder.  

"Check this out," Lily said as she buckled her seatbelt. 

Becky took the wedding invitation.  It was cream-colored and stiff, too impossibly formal to be real.  "Wow."

"I like them."

"I do, too.  It's just … wow.  I should keep a couple."

"Definitely.  How was the test?"

"I don't remember."  Becky shook her head. "I think I did okay.  What's on the agenda today?"

"Flowers.  Invitations.  Review of progress."

"Sounds good.  Is somebody getting Yvette?"

"All taken care of."

 ***

Even Kay had to admit the invitations were beautiful.  "I forgot to get stamps," she said.

"Robert's getting them," Lily answered.  She pulled the board to the center of the desk.  "And Marga called, she said yes and I gave her a deposit."  She checked off the appropriate boxes.

"We ordered wedding bands," Becky said.  "And got little gifts for attendants.  And packed and cleared space for Yvette."

Kay tensed, then shook it off.  "You got a lot done.  I hope you spent enough time studying."

"I think I did okay."

"You took care of all your paperwork with the college?"

"Yes.  I withdrew for next quarter.  As long as I register for classes again within the year, that's all I need to do."

"Good."  Kay studied the board.  "I got most of my people called.  Left messages for a few.  Did you have time to call anybody?"

"Scott did," Becky reported.  "So far we're at 39."

"Robert says 43," Lily reported, pointing to a tiny note at the edge of the board.

"Goodness, that's not many," Kay commented.  "I'm at 157.  Of course, I called all the relatives."

"So we're at 239. We were guessing two-fifty, so we're close."

"That's a lot of people," Becky said wistfully.

"We'll double that before it's over," Kay predicted.

Becky gulped.  She seemed a little pale.  Lily put her arm around her and gave her a little hug.  "This can be done," she promised.

"I know."

They reviewed the rest of the wedding plans.  The board was more than half cleared.  Then Becky brought out her list of more things she'd thought of while trying to study.  Some of the items had already been addressed.  The rest pretty much filled the board

"This is impossible," Kay said.

Lily shook her head.  "Nothing's impossible.  This can be done."

They headed out.

***

Mickey Kostmayer stood patiently just beyond the passenger gate, his hands in the pockets of his light jacket.  The plane was late, but he didn't mind.  As long as he was here, he wasn't back _there_ , in that blender of tension that was Robert McCall's apartment.   He had seen countries invaded and dictators overthrown with less planning and confusion – and expense.  Of course, those operations were usually orchestrated by men.  Woman seemed to function in an entirely different manner.  They tried to do ten things at once, and for every woman involved there was a different opinion about the right way to do each of those ten things.  Never mind prioritizing or delegating.  Every woman had to consider every decision.  Planning by committee. 

He shook his head.  The men involved had very quickly adopted a low-profile survival method.  Do what you're told, quickly and quietly.  Don't ask questions.  Don't improvise.  Don't expect any thanks.

It was, in Mickey's opinion, a wonder that there wasn't more gunfire at weddings. 

He should be setting a date for his own wedding.  Making these plans for himself and for Annie.  Or, rather, letting her make them.  But she hadn't said a word about it, since that night in Berlin when he put his mother's ring on her finger for a second time.  Either she wasn’t all that eager to be actually married …

… or she was waiting for him to make the next move …

Kostmayer grimaced.  Had he been screwing up his relationship for six months now?  Again?

Women should come with an owner's manual.  Or at least a crib sheet.  How the hell were men supposed to know what they were thinking?

"Mickey!"

He barely got his feet braced before Yvette Marcel threw herself into his arms. "Hey, Yvette."

She still had her arms around him.  Her skin was warm through her light blouse, and she smelled like flowers.  She drew back just a little, smiling.  "What, no t-shirt this time?"

"No time to get one made," Mickey apologized.  "I guess they figured you'd recognize me."

"It's really good to see you."  Her eyes twinkled.  "I never got a chance to thank you, for last time."

Mickey shrugged, untangling himself from her arms.  "No big deal."

"You got shot for me.  That's a big deal."

"Let's get your luggage."

They headed for baggage claim.  Yvette threaded her arm through his; her body was close to his side.  "It's a big deal.  You at least have to let me take you to dinner or … something."

Owner's manual or not, the pause before 'something' set off Mickey's warning alarms.  "That'd be great," he said easily.  "We'll take my fiancée along.  I know she'd love to meet you."

There was suddenly an inch of space between their bodies, a half-degree of cooling in Yvette's voice.  "Uh … I'd love to meet her, too."

Mickey looked at her.  In a minute, she grinned.  "I'm happy for you," she said sincerely.  "A little embarrassed, but happy for you."

"Thanks."  The bags were already sliding out of the chute. "Hope you brought your fire-proof underwear."

 ***

Barry Konig was a slender, nervous man with a hawk-like nose and a soft-spoken manner.  "I am so glad to meet you all," he said.  "I never thought there'd be a way for me to repay what Mr. McCall did for me – of course, this doesn't even come close to being even, but at least I can do _something_ for him … this way, this way, I'll show you what I had in mind."

He led them to the back counter of his florist shop.  "Now I thought," he explained, "that I would make the bride's bouquet just of long-stems – sorry, roses.  That always looks so elegant, with long green ribbons."

"Red and green?" Kay asked skeptically.  "For a July wedding?"

"Well, long-stems aren't a true Christmas red," he answered.  "They're more wine-colored, scarlet.  I do think you want to go with a nice rich green, though."

"We're shopping for the dress tomorrow," Lily said.  "We'll get you a sample tomorrow afternoon, hopefully."

He nodded.  "Good, good. Anyhow, then I thought for the rest of the flowers I'd carry through the roses, just buds, but also add some other colors to make it a little more – well, not informal, but, ah …"

"Youthful," Lily supplied. 

"Youthful, yes."  He produced a centerpiece from the cooler.  "Something like this.  With the ribbons streaming out, green candles in the center here.  And then the bridesmaid's flowers, church flowers, all of that would be these same flowers and colors."

Kay considered the centerpiece.  "It's very pretty.  I wasn't sure about the green, but this is nice."

Behind her, Lily winked at the florist.  He nodded, grateful he'd pulled off the sales job.  That was a little less he owed Robert McCall for saving his life.

 ***

Mickey Kostmayer turned Yvette's bags over to the bellman in the hotel lobby.  "If you have any problems, just call your – Robert's number.  I think Lily's there, she'll take care of it."

"Thanks," Yvette smiled.  It amused her that the fearless spy was apparently afraid to be alone in a hotel room with her.  He was engaged; she got it.  But she'd have been lying if she'd said she had no regrets about that, and somehow he knew it.

Maybe he had a few regrets, too.

It was fun to think so.

The suite's sitting room was not especially large, but the couch and chair looked comfortable and the room smelled very fresh.  On the coffee table was a fruit basket and a gift wrapped in wedding paper.

"Damn," Yvette said under her breath.

"Pardon?" the bellman asked with considerable concern.  Given the way both he and the man at the front desk fawned over her, they considered her some kind of VIP.

"Nothing," Yvette said quickly.  "I just need to get my brother a wedding present."

"Ah.  We have a concierge service available."

"I may take you up on that."  She slipped him a tip and showed him out.  Then she opened the card with the present.  The handwriting was neat and definitely feminine – and tiny.  'Welcome to New York.  Thank you so much for agreeing to be part of our wedding.  This gift is early, but we thought you might need it right away!  Love, Scott and Becky'.

Smiling and curious, Yvette opened the package.  Inside the box were three guide books and four maps of New York City, plus an entertainment coupon book.

Yvette laughed in delight.  It was exactly what she needed – and exactly what she'd been going to buy first.  Suddenly six months in the new city didn't seem as scary.  She was armed with knowledge now, and she was going to be just fine.

She was definitely starting to like her new sister-in-law.

 ***

"Table favors," Lily said while they stuffed invitations around the desk.  "What the hell are table favors?"

"Little keepsakes," Kay answered.  "A little bundle of mints or a small gift or something like that."

"And rice," Becky said.  "Or birdseed.  I heard the birds eat the rice and explode."

"That's Alka-Seltzer," Lily answered.  "Rice is still okay.  Except it's slippery."

"Bird seed."

"In little mesh bags," Kay said, "tied with a little green ribbon."

"For two hundred people?" Lily asked dubiously.

"Closer to three hundred, probably."

"We need volunteers."

"We need volunteers to lick all these envelopes," Kay said.

"Yuck," Becky answered.  She went to the kitchen and returned with a shallow bowl full of water and a kitchen sponge.  "This will work, I hope."

Lily watched her stick the envelopes shut.  "You know, we should split out all the local ones and have them delivered."

"You have volunteers for that, too?" Kay asked.

"I could round them up for that.  It's tying pretty ribbons they're not going to be good at."

"Woman's work," Kay sighed.  She began to sort the finished envelopes.

 ***

"You look wonderful," Robert said, holding his daughter's seat for her.

"Thank you." 

"Scott and Becky were going to join us, but Scott's gotten tied up at rehearsal – they're having technical difficulties of some kind – so Lily took Becky out to meet the crew and leave his car and I brought her back …"  He paused, smiling wryly.  "It's complicated.  This whole thing has been a series of complications."

"I'd say I understand, but I don't," Yvette admitted.  "But it's okay.  I can't imagine trying to plan a formal wedding in two weeks."

"Neither can I.  In any case, Lily will pick you up in the morning and you can meet Becky and go pick a dress for this extravaganza."

"All right.  I don't start work until next Monday, so I'm completely at your disposal."

"Not mine, I'm afraid.  This wedding is being completely managed by Kay and Lily, and to a lesser extent Becky."

Yvette frowned.  "Kay's Scott's mother?"

"My ex-wife, yes."

"Who's Lily?  I keep hearing her name.  Is she the reload?"

"The what?"

"The reload.  Is she your new lady?"

"No," Robert said.  He grinned.  He was very, very tempted to just blurt out the truth – that Lily was her godfather's lover.  He bit it back firmly.  "She's a friend, nothing more.  A colleague.  She, ah, works under your godfather.  She's a logistics expert."

"It sounds like you need one."

"We do.  We definitely do."

"How is he?  My godfather?"

Robert considered.  "He's quite busy.  If you've followed the news at all …"

"I have."

"But I do have a bit of influence with him, still.  I'll see if I can’t arrange a lunch date for you tomorrow, shall I?"

Yvette dimpled.  "That would be great.  So, dress in the morning, lunch with Control – sounds like a busy day."

"I'm sure Kay will come up with something for the afternoon."

"Like I said, I'm completely at your – her – disposal."

Robert sat back.  "I should warn you, and I don't know quite how to say this.  I didn't tell Kay about you until last week.  She was fairly upset."

"Why?" Yvette asked.  "You were with my mother way before you met her, weren't you?"

"Yes."  McCall frowned, uncomfortable.  "But you see, I … never entirely stopped loving your mother, and Kay … well, I suppose she always sensed that.  And then … Kay and I had a daughter who died quite young and she's always … blamed me, in a sense, and now …"

"Do you want me to go back to Quebec?" Yvette asked earnestly.

"No, no.  It's all right.  I've spoken to Kay and she's … she understands the situation.  As much as anyone can.  But she's always been a … a rather difficult woman, and with the stress of the wedding, and this news on top of it …"

Yvette stared at him.  "You're telling me I'm walking into a minefield."

"I … well, no, I mean … well.  Yes.  Yes, you are.  Emotionally speaking, you are."

She sighed.  "Thanks for the warning."

"On the other hand," Robert said in his own defense, "you won't be without allies.  Kay doesn't have much use for Lily or Becky, either."

"Suddenly I feel like I've been drafted.  Like I'm not joining a wedding so much as a war."

McCall nodded decisively.  "Now you've got it.  Precisely."

Yvette laughed.  "Bring it on."

 ***

They met on a quiet street corner, a pretty young woman and six men, some apparently respectable, some decidedly not.    

The tall, skinny one said, "You got a new assignment?"

The young woman nodded.  "I do."  She opened her shoulder bag and handed each of them a bundle of envelopes, held with rubber bands.  "Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to personally deliver each of these invitations to the addresses on the envelopes."

The small, squat one said, "By when?"

"No later than this time tomorrow."

The young one with the scar on his forehead said, "That's it?"

"That's it."

The handsome blond in the suit said, "We don't have to meet with _her_?"

"Only if you fail to achieve your objective."

And the one with the crooked smile said, "Then failure is not an option."

The woman nodded.  "It never is.  Thank you, gentlemen."

 *** 

The office was bustling.  It was ten at night, but most of the offices were still lit and occupied.  It seemed to Robert that there was a certain powerful quiet, a furiously contained intensity.  Too many hushed conversations.  The secrets cloyed around him as he walked down the hall, as they had so many years before.  But he was no part of them now, and they could not hold him.

Control's night secretary was busy on the phone.  Robert gestured her to keep talking, as if his old friend was expecting him.  It would not have worked for most men, but she knew him, trusted him.  And she had two more lines ringing.

Control was also on the phone.  He looked at McCall with mild exasperation but no surprise and made the same gesture Robert just had.  In a moment, he barked, "Just take care of it," and slammed the receiver down.  "What is it, Robert?"

McCall approached the desk casually.  "I've brought you something." 

"If it's the mole from the North London station, I've already got him, thanks."

"Congratulations.  But no, this is something a bit more personal."  He reached into his jacket, brought out a stiff, cream-colored envelope, hand-addressed with a single name.  "I presume you've heard about the wedding."

"Saturday.  I've heard."

"Scott and Becky would like it very much if you could be there."

Control smiled sardonically.  "And the mother of the groom?"

"Ah, well, she won't be happy about anything, will she?  You can bring a guest if you like.  Although I imagine anyone you'd like to invite will already be there."

The spymaster shot a warning glance at his open door.  "I don't know what you're talking about, old son."

"Hmmm."

"I'll be there if I can," Control said wearily.  "No promises."

"Yes," Robert answered calmly.  "You do seem quite busy here."

"You have no idea."

"Oh, I have a very good idea."  Robert settled into one of the guest chairs.  "You know, Control, I've noticed something rather unusual."   

Control glanced over his glasses.  "Have you now?"

"Sometimes I look for help among my former colleagues and they are nowhere to be found.  You've got them all off on assignment, thrown to the four corners of the world."

"That is the nature of the business, Robert."

"Oh, I know that.  Believe me, I do know that.  But just now, with this wedding coming up, I look around and I find that nearly everyone I know is here in town.  And I wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, you called them all in to be on hand in case I need them."

"Ahhh, no.  Sorry, old son.  But no."

"Then why are they here?"

The spymaster considered for a long moment.  "It's coincidence."

"Nonsense." 

Control did not answer.

"They're on Last Call, aren't they?"

They stared at each other over the desk.  The words hung in the air.  Last Call.  It was a phrase whispered in the trenches, in the field; it was certainly never spoken in these offices.  It was no part of any official Company policy.  Last Call.  When the field agents were brought home for one last vacation.  Rest, relax, recreate.  Spend time with your family.  Get your affairs in order.

Because odds are good you're not coming back from your next mission.

Control sighed.  "Last Call is just a myth."

"You're lying.  Again.  You've brought them all home because you know they may all die."

The spymaster sat back, turning the invitation over and over in his slender hands.  "They're here to help with the wedding, Robert.   There, you caught me.  I'm a sentimental old soul, I want everything to be perfect for this special day, so I called home the most dangerous men in the world to help out.  Happy?"

"Control …"

"What do you want me to do about it, Robert?  You tell me.  The center of Europe is sinking under the weight of its own prejudices.  The killing has already begun and it will only get worse before it gets better.  You know it as well as I do.  So you tell me, old son.  You come over here and you sit in this chair and you tell me, who do I send and who do I keep close?  Do I send my best men for the hardest missions, knowing that I may lose them all?  Or do I send less experienced ops, knowing that their inexperience may cause the mission to fail?  You come over here and you make the choices, Robert.  And then you can sit there and lecture me."

"The U.N. has troops …"

Control threw his hands up.  No comment was necessary.

"You're sending all of them?"

The spymaster looked away.  "Yes."

" _All_ of them?"

Control met his eyes squarely.  "Yes, Robert.  All of them."

McCall sat back.  So even Control's lover was going into the fire pit that was the Balkans.  He wondered how he could have doubted it. 

As if the girl hadn't been through enough.

He sighed.  "Your goddaughter is in town."

Control brightened.  "I heard.  She's here for the wedding?"

"She's going to be the maid of honor.  It seems Miss Romanov feels herself somehow disqualified." 

"Miss Romanov has an aversion to churches."

"Yvette's staying to redesign the offices for BancWorld.  She'll be here for six months."

"Good. Then perhaps I'll get to see her." 

"You're having lunch with her tomorrow."

"I am?"

"Yes.  At one."

Control smiled softly.  "All right.  I look forward to it.  Tell me, did we inform the ex-wife exactly how Yvette is related to the groom?"

Robert scowled.  "I told her."

"How did that go?"

"About as I expected."

"No visible wounds, anyhow."

McCall stood.  "Come to the wedding, Control."

"I'll try, Robert.  Thank you."

 


	9. Day Five (Tuesday)

At precisely nine o'clock, as instructed, Yvette Marcel reported to the lobby of her hotel.  The same desk clerk who had checked her in was on duty, and greeted her with a warm smile.  "Ah, good morning, Miss Marcel.  Did you sleep well?"

"Fine, thank you."  She blushed a little and wondered again exactly who these people thought she was.  They were polite, but not nearly so gushy, at the other guests; for whatever reason, they had singled her out for excessive attention.  

"Your ride is here," he said, gesturing.

Yvette turned, surprised.  There were a few other people in the lobby, a band of businessmen, a couple with a small child, and one pretty young woman, looking at the events board.

"Lily?" the clerk called.

The young woman turned and came over.  "Thanks, Johnny."  She stuck her hand out.  "Hi, I'm Lily."

"I'm, uh …"

"Yvette."

"Yes.  Sorry, I just … I thought you'd be a lot older."

"I get that a lot.  Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."  They went outside.  A blacked-out Mercedes waited at the curb.  "Nice car."

"Thanks.  My boyfriend bought it for me."

"Nice boyfriend.  He got a brother?"

"Not that I know of." 

Yvette settled into the black leather.  "It smells a lot better than Mickey's van, anyhow."

Lily laughed.  "That's not saying much.  The van is nearly new, but it already has that distinctive fast-food smell to it."

"Exactly."  Yvette flinched as the driver threaded the Mercedes thought traffic.  "My, uh, Robert says you work for Control."

"Well, not directly for him, a couple levels down."

"How'd you get time to work on this wedding?"

"I'm on vacation."

"Oh."

"Do you have plans for today?" Lily asked.

"No.  I don't have to be at the office until Monday, so whatever you – all of you – need."

"Good."  Lily threaded the sedan between honking taxis.  "The last I heard, the agenda for the day included a dress for you, a last visit to the florist, and the production of something called table favors.  And with any luck you'll have time to see the apartment."

"I've seen Scott's apartment," Yvette said.

Lily glanced at her.  "Oh.  No, he doesn't live there any more.  I do, actually.  He lives with Becky.  Same neighborhood.  Six blocks away."

"You live in Scott's apartment?  How did you … never mind."  She shrugged.  "It doesn't matter, really.  My company was thrilled they don't have to pay for a hotel for the whole six months."

"I bet."  Lily frowned.  "I should probably warn you …"

"About Kay?"

"Yes."

"Robert already covered it."

"Good.  She's been better, this last day or two.  But whatever she says, don't take it personally."

"I'll try."

"And if you need to hit her with something, try not to pick up any antiques."

"That good, huh?"

"I stopped carrying a gun," Lily admitted.  "I was afraid I'd use it.  And we just don't have time on the agenda to be hiding a body."

Yvette laughed.  "You all make this sound so inviting."

 ***

"Wow," Scott said, staring at the dry-erase board.  "I had no idea there was so much involved."

"You should have seen it before we got half the stuff done," Becky said.

"We really needed two boards," Kay confirmed.  "Numbers update?"

"Huh?"

"Fifty-two," Becky reported promptly.  "Thirteen more."

"Robert?"

"Yes, what?"

"Do you have any more guests coming yet?"

McCall frowned.  "Just one more, so far."

Kay scowled at him as if she guessed which one.  "I've heard from six more, so we're at …"

"Two fifty-nine," Becky answered.

"Ah, good.  Those classes have been paying off.  I don't think we're nearly done, though."

Robert sighed. "I'll make more coffee.  The girls should be here shortly."

Scott glanced at his watch.  "I hope so.  I've got to get …" There was a firm knock on Robert's door.  "The door," he concluded.

He opened the door.  "Yvette!"  He swept his half-sister into his arms before she could set down the bags she carried.  "I'm so glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you," she laughed, "but help Lily."

He released her and turned, barely got his hands out before Lily dropped a huge bag of birdseed into them.  "Whoa!"  He recovered and shifted the load.  "This must weigh fifty pounds."

"It does," she agreed.

"I offered to help her," Yvette said.

"I've carried heavier.  Put it on the desk."

"Okay."

"I don't really think we need fifty pounds," Kay said dubiously.

"No," Lily agreed, "but fifty pounds was only three dollars more than twenty pounds, and it offended my sensibilities not to buy it."  She claimed the bags from Yvette.  "You can take the left-overs home.  I bought you a bird feeder." 

"I … oh."  Kay regarded the glass and brass feeder.  "It's lovely.  But you should keep it…"

"It would only attract pigeons here.  And they kinda creep me out."

"Oh."

Scott returned without the birdseed.  "I am so glad you could come," he said again.  "This is great."

"And in a moment," Robert said gently, "he'll get around to introducing you."

"Oh, yeah, right, right, sorry.  Yvette, this is Becky.  Sorry, Yvette Marcel, Becky Baker – for another couple days."

Yvette laughed.  "I'm glad to finally meet you."

"Y-you, too."

"And, um, this is my mother, Kay M- um, Kay Wesley."

As calmly as she could, Yvette said, "Hello."

Kay took her outstretched hand and shook it lightly.  "Hello.  I hope you had a pleasant trip."

"It was fine, thank you."

"And I hope you're good at tying bows," Kay went on briskly.  "We've got about three hundred little packets to make up."  She looked to Lily.  "You got the netting?"

"And the ribbons."

"And the almonds?"

"What almonds?"

'We thought we'd do little packets of birdseed," Becky explained, "and little packets of Jordan almonds for the people."

Lily blinked.  "You want fifty pounds of Jordan almonds."

"Well, not that many," Kay countered.

"Green?"

"Assorted colors.  Like the flowers."

Romanov sighed.  "I'll make some calls."

"We'll deal with that this afternoon," Kay said.  "The first thing is to get a dress for Yvette, so we can get a sample to the florist."

"No," Lily said, "this first thing is to get me one more cup of coffee and a sit rev."

"A sit … oh, situation review."

"Yes."

"I've got to run," Scott said. "I don't know when I'll be back.  Yesterday's tech rehearsal was a disaster."

"They did seem pretty stressed out," Becky observed.

He shook his head.  "Unbelievable.  Yvette, I'm really glad you're here, and I'm sorry I can't stay longer …"

"Go," she laughed.  "We have things to do."

He paused to kiss his bride-to-be and fled.

"All right," Kay said briskly.  "Where shall we start looking for this dress?"

"I have no idea," Yvette confessed.  "What color will it be?"

"Green."

"Okay.  And how long?"

The women hesitated.  "Mickey will be in a tuxedo," Robert offered, surprising them all.  "It probably needs to be floor-length."

She nodded thoughtfully.  "Can I see the wedding dress?  That would give me a better idea what we're looking for."

"It's at the cleaner's," Becky said.

"We have pictures," Robert offered.  He led them to the study and pulled a photo album off the shelf.  He opened it, flipped a few pages, and held the photo out to them.

Kay said, "I didn't know you'd kept this."

"Of course I kept it."

She sniffed and looked away for a moment.

Yvette took the album gently from him.  "Becky's wearing your dress?"

"Yes," Becky said, when Kay didn't answer.

"That is so cool.  I mean, that's just … that's really nice.  You were beautiful in it."

"Thank you," Kay said unsteadily.

Robert and Lily's eyes met.  They were both a little surprised, but this was going to be all right.  They relaxed a notch, both wryly acknowledging that they'd been on edge at all.

"It doesn't have to be exactly the same line," Yvette mused.  "But something fitted, with the A-line skirt, short sleeves – this shouldn't be that hard to find.  Did you have a shade of green in mind?"

"Something you like," Becky said.  "The florist can match to it."

Yvette nodded.  "Okay.  Where do we start?"

"Well," Kay said, gathering herself, "if we had time, we could look for sales at the bridal shops.  But as it is, I think we'd be better served at the major department stores.  Saks, Macy's, somewhere upscale."  She paused.  "Of course, we could go out to Connecticut, hit some of the bridal shops – I don't know, they usually want to order dresses and we don't have time for that, we'd have to get them to sell us a floor model.  And then you run the risk of them not being quite clean."

"But they'd have the matching shoes there," Yvette pointed out.  "Whereas if we hit the chains, we might have to search for shoes."

"Oh, but I'm sure Saks could dye shoes for us, too."

Robert said, "Well, wherever you're going, you need to go.  Yvette's meeting her godfather for lunch at 1:00."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

Kay puffed visibly.  "Well, who's her godfather?  Can't we reschedule that?"

"No," Robert said.  "We can't."

"I'll get her there," Lily promised.  "And then we can go in search of almonds."  She shook her head. "Almonds.  I don't even know where to start."

"Call Stocky," Robert suggested.

"Ah.  Good.  Yes."

"Well, we'd better get started on the dress, then," Kay said.  "Sak's?"

"Sure," Lily said.  "In the car, ladies."

"Or maybe Bloomies …"

"In the car," Lily repeated firmly.

 ***

"Oh," the saleswoman gushed, "it's beautiful!"

Yvette looked down dubiously.  "I don't know."

"Well, it's a very _different_ shade of green," Kay said slowly.  "I don't know how we'd do with matching that shade." She looked pointedly to Becky.  "Do _you_ like it?"

"I … uh …"

"Yuck," Lily pronounced.

Becky nodded.  "Yes.  That."

"I agree," Yvette said quickly.

"Oh, good," Kay breathed.  "I mean, if you loved it, but …"

"But it's the latest color," the saleswoman protested.  "It's the summer's hot color."

"It's a wedding," Kay said.  "We don't want hot colors; we want something that looks good."

"Well.  All right, I'll see what else we have …"

"Get dressed," Lily told Yvette.  "We're out of here."

"Well, but really …" the saleswoman said.

Yvette was already peeling out of the dress.

 ***

Mickey picked up his tuxedo from the cleaners at mid-morning.  Ralph was behind the counter, as always, pretending to be Oriental.  He was third-generation Brooklyn, and the minute the other customers left, his accent dropped away.  "Hey, Kostmayer."

"Hey, Ralph.  Got the monkey suit done?"

"All set."  He went back to the racks to find the tux.  "What's the occasion?"

Kostmayer sighed.  "I'm the best man."

"Wedding, huh?  Well, don't worry, that mustard stain came out just fine.  And the wine, it don't show."

"Good.  Thanks."

Ralph took his money, handed over the clothes.  "You in on that McCall thing?"

"Yeah.  Scott's wedding."

"I got the dress."

"Oh.  Good."

"You take it."

"Uh … no," Mickey said.  "I don't think I'm authorized."

"Sure, sure, you take it.  It's done, you take it."

"No."

"Mama will be happy it's done a day early."

"No."

"Otherwise she'll come back in here.  I don’t want her in here.  She scares me."

"Ralph, I'm not taking the dress."

The counter clerk paused.  "Look, you take the dress, I throw the tux cleaning in for free.  Save me the delivery charge."

"Ralph …"

"You know how hard it is to get mustard out of wool?  I'm gonna have to charge you triple for that stain."

"You bastard," Mickey growled.  He snagged his money back.  "Give me the damn dress."

 ***

"That's … better," Kay said dubiously, studying the sea-foam colored dress.

"The color's better," Yvette said.  "I'm not sure about the cut.  It's so … puffy."

"What do you think?" Kay asked Becky.

"I don't know.  It's just … not what I had in mind."

"It makes her look like an unripe pumpkin," Lily said.  "Next!"

 ***

"How did you get the dress?" McCall demanded.  "No, never mind, I don't want to know.  I'll hang it in the back bedroom."

"Thanks."  Mickey rubbed his hand ruefully.  "Damn thing weighs a ton."

"I know."

Kostmayer wandered back to the den and looked at the board.  "McCall, this is ridiculous."

"Hmm?"  Robert returned without the dress.

"Colors, columns – Romanov must be loving this."

"Oh, yes," Robert agreed.  "She does enjoy the impossible operation, doesn't she?"

Mickey shook his head.  "What's this word?"

"Rehearsal, I think."

"Not reversal?"

"I don't think so."  Robert tipped his head.  "Well, it might be.  Or refusal."

"Why does it have Nick's name behind it?  My brother Nick?"

"He's running the rehearsal, yes."

Kostmayer raised an eyebrow.  "My brother the Catholic priest is rehearsing this wedding?"

"It's a long story."

"Uh-huh."  Mickey shook his head.  "While I got you, McCall, I was thinking.  We don't really have time for any kind of bachelor party – although I do know some people who could …"

"No," McCall said firmly.  "I have already spent enough on this wedding without throwing bail for the entire wedding party.  And Scott is leaving the country on Sunday."

"Yeah, that's kinda what I thought.  But maybe," Mickey shrugged, "we could go out for a drink after the rehearsal dinner?"

Robert considered, nodded.  "One drink, yes.  That would be acceptable."

Kostmayer grinned impishly.  "I know just the place."

 ***

"Oh," Becky said. 

"Yes," Yvette agreed.

"That's lovely," Kay agreed.

Lily slapped Robert McCall's credit card down.  "We'll take it."  She glanced at her watch.  "Show us shoes."

 ***

There was a soft knock on the door.  Control looked up, scowled with irritation, then went back to his work.  He'd asked not to be disturbed.  He had to get at least this piece done if he was going to take anything like a real lunch break today.

After a moment, the knock repeated.

"What?" he barked.

The door opened just far enough to Yvette Marcel to poke her head through.  "It's no wonder everybody's scared to knock."

"Yvette!" he said with genuine delight.  He stood, sliding the papers under a file folder smoothly.  "Come in, come in."  He rounded the desk to hug her.  "I thought we were meeting for lunch."

Yvette smiled at him.  "That was an hour ago."

Startled, he looked at his watch.  "No, it's only … oh.  Oh, Yvette, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she said warmly.  "I was warned that might happen."  She brought up her arm and showed him the large shopping bag she held.  "So I brought lunch to you.  I hope that's okay."

"It's fine," he agreed.  He was suddenly aware of how hungry he was, and how delicious the contents of the bag smelled.  He gestured towards the couch and coffee table.  "Come, sit. How'd you get in here, anyhow?"

"Lily signed me in.  Romanov."

He glanced towards the door.  "Is she still here?"

"No.  I asked her to have lunch with us, but she said she had a million things to do.  I think she thought it would be awkward.  You know, lunch in the boss' office."

"Mmm."  He sank to the couch and studied her frankly.  "You look wonderful.  It's been too long."

She nodded self-consciously.  "You look tired, godfather."

Control grunted noncommittally and helped himself to the lasagna she'd brought.  If it wasn't made by Becky herself, it had certainly come from her restaurant.  "How goes the wedding planning?"

Yvette grinned wryly. "Well, it's interesting."

"Interesting.  You have your mother's knock for diplomacy."

"We shopped for a dress for me this morning.  With Scott's mom.  We found a dress, and there was no bloodshed.  That's about the best I can say."

"Kay can be very – intense."

"Intense," Yvette laughed.  "Now who's the diplomat?" 

Control shrugged.  "I'm trying to put a pleasant spin on it.  You do have to deal with her for the next week."

"Yes.  But poor Becky has to deal with her for the rest of her life."  She shook her head.  "I like her, though.  Becky.  She's sweet.  You've met her?"

"Yes."

"Scott's completely crazy about her."

"I hadn't noticed."

She laughed again.  "And Lily is just …"

"What?"

"Never mind."

Control wiped his mouth.  "Lily Romanov once stepped between me and a bullet.  I think I can safely say that our relationship is somewhat more than professional."

Yvette nodded.  "She reminds me of my mother."

"Oh."  Control sat back.  The comment surprised him deeply, and he consciously composed his features, calmed his voice.  "How so?"

"She's just so … she does things, you know?  Kay wants to talk and negotiate and dither, and Lily just does things."  She took a bite of her salad and chewed it thoughtfully.  "When I was in primary school, there was this mothers' group that planned the class parties, things like that.  And they wanted to have a fund-raiser, but they couldn't decide what to sell or when or how, it went around and around for weeks, and finally my mother got fed up and went in and said, 'Look, you're selling this and this on these dates, end of discussion.'  And they did, and they made a ton of money."  She shook her head.   "Of course the next year they put her in charge."

"No good deed goes unpunished," Control mused.  Somehow he had never imagined Manon as a PTA mother.

"Anyhow, Lily's the same way.  She lets Kay discuss and talk and all, but then she gets to a point where she just says, enough, we're doing this.  And the weird thing is, Kay goes along with it."

"Hmm."

"Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that Robert gave Lily his credit cards."

Control nearly spit pasta.  "He what?"

"Kay's planning the wedding," Yvette grinned, "but Lily has control of all the money."

"Clever of him."

"I thought so."  She leaned forward conspiratorially.  "Do they have a thing going?"

"Who?"

"My father and Lily."

Control blinked.  "She's a little young for him, don't you think?"

"That's not an answer."

"What makes you think I'd know?"

"Because you know everything, godfather."

He sighed.  "I know almost everything.  And to answer your impertinent question, no.  As far as I know they're only friends."

"Did they used to have a thing?"

"Not that I know of."

She sat back, frowning.  "Are you sure?"

"I'm reasonably sure."

"Hmm." 

"What makes you ask, anyhow?  Besides the credit cards."

Yvette shook her head.  "I don't know.  There's just something between them, some kind of … I don't know.  Like they understand each other too well.  Like they have too many secrets."

"They are both in the same profession."

"No, that's not it.  There's something more."

Control shook his head.  "I don't know.  I don't see it."

"Maybe I'm just imagining things."

"Robert does have a lady friend," Control offered, gently changing the subject.  "She's a historian.  Lives in Scott's building.  But I've never met her."

"Oh.  Well, maybe at the wedding."

"If I can get away from here."

"You'll try, won't you?"

"I'll try my best."

They ate for a moment in silence.  "And you?" Control said.  "What's happened to young Pierre?"

She looked up, startled.  "You really _do_ know everything, don't you?"

"I keep track of the important things."

"He's gone," Yvette said.  "Out of the picture.  I liked him – I loved him – but we couldn't work things out."

"Are you all right?"

She considered.  "I'm okay.  It's been four months, I think I'm getting over him.  Finally.  This trip is good.  It’s good to stop moping around."

"I'm glad." 

"It's hard, though," she admitted.  "I mean – this sounds so dumb – if he'd been somehow awful, it would be easy.  If he'd cheated on me or been a drunk or something, you know, something easy to see, it would have been easier to break up with him.  But he was wonderful.  He just wasn't … I don't know."

"He wasn't _your_ wonderful," her godfather supplied.

Yvette sighed.  "Exactly.  My friends think I'm crazy for leaving him.  And I'm starting to think they're right.  I mean, I did love him. It just wasn't like, forever love.  It was just good enough.  And that's not really … good enough.  How do you always do that?"

"What?"

"You ask me one simple question and here I am babbling, pouring my heart out like some love-sick puppy."

Control smiled gently.  "It's in knowing what question to ask."  He leaned and kissed her forehead.  "You should not settle for good enough, Yvette."

"I know.  I know.  And I'm glad I didn't.  But it's still hard."  She loaded her fork with lasagna, then put it down uneaten.  "You know what's wonderful, though?"

"What's that?"

"When I saw Scott with Becky, when I saw how good they were together, I knew I did the right thing with Pierre.  Because as long as I was with him, settling for good enough, I didn't have any chance at all of finding what they have."  She shook her head.  "They're so lucky."

"Mmm," Control answered noncommittally.  He was not inclined to think that Becky Baker was all that lucky, given her past.  But Yvette didn't know about that, nor did she need to know about it. 

Yvette reclaimed her fork and ate.  "You want to hear something stupid?  I sorta thought, coming back here, I might get to rekindle things with Mickey.  But obviously that's not going to work out." 

Control stared at her.  "You and Kostmayer?  No, that wouldn't have worked out at all."

"Why?"

"Because I wouldn't have allowed it.  If I thought you were seriously interested in him, I'd dispatch him to Siberia.  Forever."

Yvette laughed.  "He's nice."

"He's crazy.  And dangerous."

"Robert likes him."

"I didn't say I didn't like him.  I said I would never let him date you."

"My great protector."

"Now and always, Yvette."

She shrugged.  "It doesn't matter anyhow.  He'd getting married, too."

Control shrugged.  "He's engaged.  I haven't seen him make any moves towards getting married."

"Well, anyhow, you don't have to send him to Siberia."

"Not right away."

Yvette studied him as he continued to eat.  "And you, godfather?"

"What about me?"

"Are you still alone?"

He hesitated.  "I have my work."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yvette.  You have to understand.  In my position, in this job … even if I had time for a relationship, which I honestly don't, it would have to be a secret.  A very closely-kept secret."

"Even from me."  She nodded slowly.  "I understand.  But I worry about you.  About how alone you are."

He glanced towards the door.  "I am not as alone as you might think.  And that is all I can say on that topic."

"Oh."  She sat back, grinning, surprised.  "Oh."

"About Pierre," Control continued.  "You made the right choice.  I know it's hard to believe right now, but the right man will come along."

Yvette frowned.  "I don't know.  Sometimes I think I'm just too … I expect too much.  You know?  Like no one could possibly live up to all my expectations."

"No one can."

"But you just said …"

"The right one will come along?  He will.  But he won't live up to all your expectations.  Just most of them.  And he'll be special enough that the others don't matter."

"I don't know."

"Trust me, Yvette.  Your great love is still out there.  And he will find you when you very least expect it."

 She eyed him skeptically.  "Like yours did?"

Control's eyes twinkled.  He took another bite of pasta, chewed it slowly.  "This is really good."

"You're not going to tell me."

"The bread is very fresh, too."

"My mother was right about you.  You are such a brat sometimes."

He grinned and continued his lunch.

 ***

Mickey Kostmayer looked over his gear one more time. 

It had been laid out two weeks ago, in the expectation that this vacation Control had sent him on would be cut short.  He already knew there was nothing missing.  Everything he could reasonably take with him had been gathered.  Everything he couldn't would be provided once he got there.  Or, he would live without it.

Or die without it.

He closed the little closet and locked it.  He didn't fear that Annie would pry; she already knew what was in it.  But the kids from the neighborhood had a habit of wandering into the apartment and making themselves at home, and Mickey did not want to deal with having them pawing through there.  Most of the lethal items were elsewhere, but kids could be damned inventive.

He always had been.

He went to the darkroom and unlocked the bottom drawer of the little work table.  He didn't bother to take the items out.  It was all there.  The will, the letters, the cash.  Annie knew where the key was.  If he didn't come back …

He locked the drawer. 

Control was crazy-making with this vacation crap.  He probably thought he was being considerate, compassionate – as much as Control ever did – giving everyone leave before this nightmare got properly ramped up.  He was wrong.  All the agents Mickey knew were bouncing off the walls.  They knew damn well it was going to be bad.  They just wanted to get on with it.

The first week off had been nice, he had to admit.  The second was getting grinding.  There was too much time, to say too many things.   Too much time to think.  Not about his own death, which had never bothered Kostmayer much, but about how it would affect the ones around him.  They would go on, all of them.  Robert, Nick – they'd been half-expecting him to get killed momentarily.  But they would still hurt.  And Annie …

And Annie was going to the Balkans, too.  The idea made his stomach churn.  All right, he supposed, if he died there, but she was a civilian, armed only with a camera and, on a good day, a U.N. escort.  If he died it was one thing.  If she died …

But he couldn't tell her not to go.  He couldn't be that selfish.

Like Control, he thought suddenly, and Lily.  He could order her not to go, she might not even fight him on it much, but it would always be there.  Mickey was in the same boat as his boss.  Independent women.  "Damn."

"You swore, love?" Anne asked, coming into the darkroom. 

"I did," Mickey answered.  "How's the hotel?"

She made a face.  "Better, I think.  I want to print these and check.  It's a little overcast today; that helps a lot with the glare."

"I'll see what I can do about rain for Saturday."

"Oh, would you?"

"For you, babe, anything."

She was busy unloading her camera for a moment, and when she looked up he was still there, watching her.  "What?"

"Nothing."  Mickey shrugged innocently.  "I was just looking at you."

"Oh." 

"I picked up Yvette at the airport."

Anne frowned over her film.  "Yvette's the sister, right?"

"Uh-huh.  She had a thing for me.  Still does, apparently."

"I need to kneecap her?"

"No.  I made it perfectly clear I was off the market.  She was disappointed, of course."

"Well, I can't blame her for that."

"Hey, Annie?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you, uh, just waiting around for me to say something else about the wedding?"

She looked up at him, distracted and puzzled.  "About Scott's wedding?"

"No.  About ours."

"Oh."  Anne paused, put the film down.  "Well, honestly, I hadn't given it much thought."

"Oh, good."

"I mean, I guess I sorta thought we'd get to that after this Balkans thing was straightened out."

Mickey frowned.  "That could be years, you know."

"I know," she answered seriously.  "But …" She stopped, sighed.  "Here's the thing.  You promised you'd marry me.  If you go over there with that promise hanging over you, I figure you have to come back and keep it."

"Oh."

"Whereas if we go ahead and do it, then you can die with a clear conscience, because you kept your promise, and I'm not about to let you do that."

"Uhhhh …"  Mickey stared at her.  "Damn."

"I know it's stupid.  But there it is."

"But you're going to be there, too."

"Not where you are."

He nodded thoughtfully.  "Makes sense to me," he said lightly.  He kissed her forehead.  "Good luck with the pictures." 

Mickey left the darkroom and closed the door quietly.  Safely behind it, he rubbed his knuckles across the tears that had inexplicably filled his eyes.  "Damn," he said quietly.  "Damn."

 

 


	10. Day Four (Wednesday)

By Wednesday morning, the guest list had climbed to two hundred and ninety-nine.

There had been a thunderstorm overnight.  The city was fresh and clean and, for the moment, cool.  The women – Becky, Kay, Lily, Yvette, and Anne – met in Robert's living room around coffee and still-warm bagels, and reviewed plans with a renewed sense of calm and camaraderie.

There were still million things to be done:  shoes to be picked up, guest lists to track, suppliers to be followed up with.  The birdseed bundles had been completed, and the resourceful Lettie had found some way to vacuum the remnants out of Robert's office.  A hundred pounds of Jordan almonds were due to be delivered in the afternoon.  Lily had received a substantial discount, plus free delivery, for buying bulk.  White netting squares had been cut for them, so the people would not confuse them with the green birdseed bundles.  Father Nick had been briefed on the rehearsal, and Pete O'Phelan's place had been reserved for the rehearsal dinner.  The bands had been contacted and gladly agreed to share the night. 

They talked and ate and revised, and at last even Kay pronounced, "I think we've got this under control."

"It's a miracle," Anne said.  "When we're finally ready to get married, I'm calling you guys."

Lily groaned.  "I'm changing my phone number.  I don't think I can do this again."

"It won't help," Yvette assured her.  "My godfather will know where to find you."

Becky watched them all quietly.  She was amazed at how things were unfolding.  Kay's attitude seemed to have changed markedly.  Though she was still definitely in charge, she at least tried to consult Becky on some matters – and to treat her less like some intruder.  She'd expected tension between Kay and Yvette, but there was nearly none; Yvette was content to be treated as an outsider, and Kay genuinely tried to be nice to her.  Yvette and Anne should have presented more tension – they had both dated the same man – but they seemed to be bonding in spite of that.  Lily was Lily still, watchful and guarded underneath, putting a painfully pleasant appearance on top, but she had stopped going out of her way to antagonize Kay.  The list of what remained to do for the wedding was long, but suddenly this morning it didn't seem insurmountable.

Saturday she and Scott would be married, and Sunday they would be on their way to Europe …

It was an overwhelming thought, too big to hold, and her mind shied away from it, back to the details of the list, back to today's task. 

Kay said, "Who is your godfather, anyhow?"

Becky missed the answer.  Suddenly she was cold and blind and sick; something monstrous and black and dead stood between her and her wedding, something horrible, stalking her, searching for her all through the city, relentless, mission-driven – and then out of the darkness the comfort of Lily's voice said, "Let's go" and she let the woman carry her away from it …

"Becky?"

Becky snapped her head up, shuddering, and looked into Yvette's concerned eyes.  She has her father's eyes, Becky thought in surprise.  It was comforting, and she took a deep breath.  "S-sorry," she managed to say.

"Are you all right?"

"I-I'm okay."  She shook her head, hard, to clear it.  She hated that stutter.  But Yvette's hand was on her shoulder, warm, and it helped her. "I just – got a little overwhelmed."

"Can't say I blame you."

"How'd the dress come out?" Anne asked into the uncomfortable silence.

"We have to pick it up tomorrow," Kay said.

Anne shook her head.  "Mickey picked it up."

They looked at her blankly.

"When he picked up his tux," Anne explained, "Ralph made him take the dress, too.  It should be here."

There was another moment of confused silence.  "The back bedroom," Kay guessed.  She went and got it.  "Robert.  I swear that man would forget to tell me the house was on fire."  She opened the closet door and hung the dress from the top of it, then peeled off the protective plastic. 

And then she screamed.

 ***

"Kay," Lily said, loudly and firmly, "breathe!"

Kay shook her head.  "It's ruined!" she sobbed.  "It's ruined, it's ruined!"

Becky moved and put her arm around her future mother-in-law.  "Shh, shh."

"But it's ruined!  Look at it!  My God, they ruined it!"

Yvette moved to the other side of her.  She seemed awkward, unsure, but the older woman was hysterical.  "Mrs. – Kay, calm down.  It's a dress."

"It's my wedding dress!"  Kay bawled.  She gestured to Becky.  "It's _her_ wedding dress!  It's ruined, oh, it's all ruined."

"No," Yvette said firmly, "it's not all ruined.  The dress is ruined, but the wedding is still on.  I understand you're upset.  But no one has died here.  It's just a dress."

Kay turned from her, wrapped her arms around Becky, and cried.

Lily said, "Ahh – she's a little stressed out."

"Does my father keep any brandy?"

"In there," Lily pointed.  "Bring some for Kay, too."

Yvette smirked at her and went to find a glass.

Anne, meanwhile, had turned to examining the dress.  "You know, it might not be that bad."

Kay shook her head on Becky's shoulders and moaned, "Ruined, ruined."

"I don't think so.  The fabric is fine.  It's just the beads that are all yucked up."  She studied the bodice closer.  The fine beads that covered it had gone sickly yellow.  Some were peeling, others loose, broken, or missing entirely.  But beneath, the fabric was clean, white and solid.  "I think we could just replace the beads."

"Replace the beads?"  Kay lurched herself upright.  "Do you have any idea how long that would take?  The dress is ruined!"

Yvette handed her a short brandy.  "Here.  This will help."

"I am not hysterical!" Kay snapped.

"Yes," Lily told her gently, "you kinda are.  It's okay.  Drink the brandy.  Then we'll figure this out."

Kay sniffed impatiently.  "I am _not_ hysterical.  They ruined my wedding dress."

"Guess we know now why Ralph insisted that Mickey bring it home," Anne said quietly.

"And, oh, sweetheart," Kay said to Becky, "I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I so wanted you to be able to wear this dress …"

Becky kept her arm around her and said, very calmly, "Here.  Drink."

At her urging, Kay drank.  Then she wiped her eyes and regained some of her composure.  She eyed the dress now in more grief than anger.  "Oh, there's just no hope.  It's ruined."

"Let's get a professional opinion about that," Lily suggested.

"Oh, please," Kay snorted.  "You are _not_ going to tell me you know someone who'd be able to re-bead that whole bodice by Saturday.  You just aren't.  It can't be done."

Lily said, "Let me make a call."

 ***

It was a tidy little house on a quiet side street, just over the river, with a clean but aging station wagon in the driveway and two bikes on the grass next to the walk.

"Here?" Kay asked dubiously as she stepped from the car. 

"Here," Lily assured her.  She went around and opened the trunk, but before she could retrieve the dress the front door slammed open and two leggy girls ran at her.  "Lily, Lily!" they shouted, just before they wrapped her in hugs that were as much tackle as affection. 

"Hey, Sophie, hey, Elizabeth."

"Just Beth," the older girl corrected quickly. 

"Okay."  Lily pointed quickly around the group.  "This is Becky – she's the bride.  And Yvette, and Anne, and Kay."

The girls greeted them rather shyly.  "Momma says you have an emergency," the younger girl said.

"We do," Anne confirmed.  She brought the dress out of the trunk carefully. 

"Is it fun to get married?" Beth demanded of Becky.

"It's not today," Becky said quietly.

"Where's Emily?" Lily asked.

"She's inside," Sophie reported.  "She's pouting.  Mamma was going to take her to the playground and now she says she can't.  And she won't let her go with just us."

"Yeah," Beth sighed, "we're not _responsible_ enough."

Lily nodded thoughtfully and brought a small bag out of the trunk.  "I see."

"Did you bring us more bears?" Sophie asked.

"Sophie!" her sister chided.  "Those were just for Christmas."

"True," Lily said.  "But I did bring you rock candy."

"What's that?"

She brought out two slender wooden sticks covered with chunks of crystallized sugar – red for Beth, green for Sophie.  "It's sugar.  And coloring.  It's good."

They took them eagerly.  Beth hesitated.  "Did you bring one for Emily?"

"Of course."

"Oh, good."  She tore the wrapper off hers and licked it eagerly.  "We’re going to the playground," she announced.  She grabbed her bike and pedaled off with her candy.

"Hey, wait for me!" Sophie called after her.

 ***

"It's not so bad," Shelly said reassuringly, after she'd studied the dress.  "The beads are shot, but the dress itself it okay.  Cheap beads do this sometimes, peel and discolor."

Kay stiffened.  "It was a very expensive dress."

Shelly frowned over it.  "I can see.  The stitching is exquisite.  But even the most expensive places sometimes get ripped off by their suppliers.  You really can't tell, with beads, until they age.  And if this has been somewhere hot, in an attic …"

"Yes," Kay said, calmer.  "I'm sorry, I'm just so upset."

"Oh, of course you are.  And when is the wedding?"

"Saturday."

The woman nodded.  "It'll be tough, but I can get it done.  I'll just need the girls to be patient for a few days."

Emily sat petulantly on Lily's lap, morosely sucking on her rock candy.  "I wanted to go to the playground."

"Emily."

"But Mama, the big girls get to go."

"They aren't five, Emily."

"I'll tell you what," Lily said.  "We'll send them out to get new beads, and I'll take you to the playground for as long as you like."

The child lit up.  "Really?"

"Really.  And then we'll go bring back a pizza for supper.  And then maybe go to a movie."

"The big girls, too?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid we have to take them, too."

Emily grinned.  "That's okay.  But I get to sit by you."

"Well, yeah."  Lily rolled her eyes.  "Duh."

The child giggled.  "Mama says we're not allowed to say that."

"Oh.  Sorry."

Shelly shook her head.  "You don't have to do all that …"

"If you're going to spend the next three days working on this dress, the least I can do is keep the girls entertained."

Shelly considered.  Then she nodded.  "All right.  Let's get started."

 ***

Simms' report consisted of only five words.  "The Serbs have blockaded Krajina."

It had been simmering all the summer.  Politicians jockeying for position and power, denouncing their Communist ties but not their ambitions, playing on nationalism and fear for popularity.  Control had watched and listened, gathered information, backgrounds, impressions.  Made preparations.  In some places he could see exactly where the chips would fall.  In others, it was still a coin flip.  The bottom line was this:  Yugoslavia had been forced together by Tito and his regime from six republics – nations unto themselves – and countless ethnic groups.  The Serbian republic had been further dissected, with regions set aside for other ethnic groups.  With Tito and his successors gone, the restraints were also gone.  The country was not going to come apart gently.  It was going to blow apart like a shrapnel grenade. 

Control would help where he could.  Others would help.  The French, the British, the Germans.  The UN was the best hope, but whether the international force had any legs remained to be seen.  Armed forces were available if they were needed.  But intelligence services were first in, last out.  As always.

Milosevic said that if Yugoslavia broke apart – which was now all but certain – he would bring all the Serbs together in a new nation, even if he had to obliterate long-standing boundaries to do so.  He probably had the guns to make it happen.  Most of the officers in the national army, JNA, were Serbs, and therefore presumably loyal to him.

Simms' report was not a surprise.  Krajina was one of the places on Control's A-list. It was the logical place for Milosevic to make his first move.  The rural area was within Croatia's boundaries, but the majority of its population was ethnic Serb.  They had passed a referendum that said, basically, that if Croatia could secede from Yugoslavia, then the Serb region had the right to secede from Croatia. 

Croatia had begun to organize militias.

And now the Serbs were prepared to defend the area they were seeking to annex. 

"The Serbs have blockaded Krajina," Simms said.

Control paused for one moment.  It was not a surprise; he just didn't want to hear it.  Then he squared his shoulders.  "Get your Logistics people in here." 

It had begun.

 ***

Anne carried her camera – a little one, portable and ever-present – to the playground and shot most of a roll of wonderful pictures of the girls, and half a dozen of Lily romping with them.  She couldn't publish those, she knew, but she took them anyhow.  Maybe Mickey would give them to his mysterious friend, the one who had the picture of her on the Berlin Wall.

The girls were highly photogenic.

Eventually, Lily got tired of pushing swings and twirling merry-go-rounds and collapsed on the bench next to her.  The girls were in easy view, digging in the sandbox at the bottom of the slide.

"Should have brought a water bottle," the courier said breathlessly.

"There's a fountain over there."  Anne pointed.

Lily considered.  "In a minute."

"You're good with kids."

"Uh-huh."

"Big family?"

"Foster home."

"Oh.  I'm sorry."

Lily looked at her.  "Don't be.  Best thing that could have happened to me."

"Oh."  They sat for a few minutes, just watching the girls.  "Kay settled down pretty well.  I think it was that second glass of brandy."

"And the half a Valium."

Anne chuckled.  "How'd you get her to take half a Valium?"

"I put it in the second glass of brandy." 

"Oh."

"I don't cope well with the hysterical.  Especially those hysterical over an item of clothing."

"I'll keep that in mind," Anne said carefully.  And then, "It was her wedding dress."

"I know."

There was another pause.  "You ever think about having any?" Anne asked.

"Wedding dresses?"

"Kids.  Well, wedding dresses, too, I guess."

"Dress, no.  Kids, maybe."

"Oh."

"You sound surprised."

"No," Anne said, "I just wouldn't have guessed that about you.  You just seem so – unattached, I guess."

Lily shrugged.  "I could see me putting down some roots.  Some time.  Not any time soon.  You?"

"What?"

"Dress.  Kids."

"Dress, yes.  Kids, no."

"Really?"

"Now you sound surprised."

"A little," Lily admitted.  "I thought you came from a big family."

"I did.  I've changed enough diapers."

"And Mickey's okay with that?"

"He says he is."  Anne paused.  "Do you think he is?"

"Probably.  He doesn't talk to me about stuff like that.  Much."

"Meaning he does some?"

Lily shook her head.  "Only in passing.  Whatever he told you, I'd believe."

"I think he thinks," Anne sighed, "that if I had babies, I'd be at home with them, instead of traipsing around through every war zone on the planet."

"Would you be?"

"Yes."

"Which is why you don't want them."

"Exactly.  And he's okay with that.  He says."

Lily nodded.  "There is always that male instinct to protect the mate."

"Even if the mate is perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

"Yes.  Emily, don't throw the sand!"

Emily said, "Can I take my shoes off?"

"As long as you stay in the sandbox," Lily called back.

All three pair of sneakers promptly flew out of the sand box.

"Do you have a father picked out?" Anne asked, when the girls had settled again.

"Hmm?"

"For these children you're planning."

"Oh."  Lily considered, a small smile playing around her mouth.  "Yes.  I think so."

"What's he think about them?"

"I'm not sure.  Mostly about protecting the mate, as far as I can tell."

"You'd have to leave the Company," Anne guessed.

"I don't know that I'd have to, but I sure as hell would."  She shook her head.  "It's poisonous.  Bad for children.  Very bad."

"They seem okay," the photographer pointed out, gesturing to the happy girls in the sand.

"Their dad comes home every night," Lily pointed out.  "And he doesn't have to wash the blood off his hands before he comes in the house."

Anne took a slow breath.  "I hadn't thought of it quite that way."

"I never think about it any other way."

"Is your guy with the Company, too?" Anne asked in surprise.

Before Lily could answer, the girls swarmed out of the sand.  "I wanna swing!" Emily proclaimed.

"Get your shoes on, then."

"I can't."

"Bring them here."

The child trotted obediently over the grass in her bare feet and parked herself on the bench between the two older women.  The older girls found their own shoes.  "I'm thirsty," Emily said.

"Well, wait a minute," Lily answered.  She put the child's shoes on and tied them.  "Okay.  Race you to the drinking fountain.  Ready …"

Emily was already two strides ahead of her.

 ***

"It's an awful lot of work," Kay said in the car, close to midnight.

"She can do it," Lily answered.  "She got a lot done this afternoon already."

"I know."  Kay sighed.  "I know.  I just wonder what else can go wrong."

In the back seat, Becky began to tremble.  "What’s wrong?" Yvette asked.

"I-I-I … nothing," Becky answered miserably.

Kay turned to look her over the sear.  "You're white as a ghost.  What is it?"

"I-I'm just tired," Becky protested.  "And I have a headache."

Lily met her eyes in the rear-view mirror.  "We could all use some rest.  Tomorrow we'll hit it again."

Kay turned forward, half-satisfied.  "You got a sitter for the girls tomorrow?"

"It's all taken care of."

"Thank you."

Lily glanced at her, startled.  "You're welcome."

 


	11. Day Three (Thursday)

Thursday morning the guest count had climbed to three hundred and twenty-seven. 

Anne Keller called, then headed to the church for some more practice shots. 

Yvette and Lily, Kay and Becky gathered over pastries and coffee in Robert's apartment.  Lettie had let them in; Robert was not there, and Becky wisely did not mention that his car had been parked behind her building all night. 

They reviewed the lists.  They called the caterers.  They checked Robert's answering machine, and the count climbed five more.  They took turns on the phone, calling everyone to confirm arrangements.  Kay wanted to call Shelly about the dress, and Lily talked her out of it. 

They finished the little packets of Jordan almonds.  "I don't suppose," Kay mused, "there's any point in making a seating chart."

"Absolutely none," Lily answered.

They had lunch at the Roosevelt, for free, and spoke again to the catering manager.  Then they went north to hear the Marty Usher Band rehearse.  They were old men, all of them over seventy, and they practiced in a sweltering hot sway-backed garage behind the sax player's brother's house.  They played wonderfully.    

"I think," Kay said carefully, "we may actually pull this off."

"Never a doubt in my mind," Lily answered.

"Well, that's one of us," Yvette kidded.  "Frankly, I didn't think you had a chance in hell."

"There's still time for things to go wrong," Lily said practically.  And then, "Becky, you okay?"

The bride was dead-pale.  "I-I'm okay."

"You look sick," Kay insisted.

"I'm fine.  It's just the heat."

"Let's get in the car," Lily suggested.  "I'll crank the air."

Becky climbed into the back seat with Kay.  She leaned back, her eyes closed.  "We don't have time for you to get sick," Kay snapped.

"I-I'm not sick.  I just didn't sleep very well."

From the front, Yvette said, "Maybe you need to go home and rest.  We can take care of the rest of the details for the day."

Becky said, very softly, "Okay."

Lily turned the air conditioner up full blast.  There was a whiff of hot, and then delicious cool filled the car. 

Kay shook her head.  "That's all we need," she said under her breath.  "A bride with the vapors."  Louder, she said, "I think we should drive out and see how the dress is coming along."

"No," Lily said firmly.  "Leave Shelly alone.  She'll call us if she needs help.  Otherwise we're just a distraction."

"I hope you're right."

There was a bit of silence as Lily drove out of the neighborhood and onto the freeway.  Mid-day traffic was moving at a decent clip, for the city.  

"Lunch was good," Yvette said into the silence.  "I think the dinner will be fine."

"I wish it didn't have to be a buffet," Kay complained.  "They always seem so informal.  Waiting in line to fill your plate.  It's more like a picnic than a wedding."

No one bothered to answer. 

Lily glanced over her shoulder, not at Kay but at oncoming traffic.  She slid the Mercedes over one lane and accelerated. 

"I'm still worried about the dress," Kay persisted.  "What if she can't get it done by then?  There's no time to get another dress now.  Of course, thank God she's an off-the-rack size, but it would never fit quite right.  I just think we really should consider looking at our options.  We need a professional to do this work."

The car fell silent.  Becky sat up suddenly.

Yvette waited for Lily to answer the renewed complaint, but the driver seemed distracted with the light traffic.

"I said, I think we should take the dress to a professional," Kay repeated.

"Uh-huh," Lily answered absently.  Her attention was largely focused on her rear-view mirror. She glanced over her shoulder again, then unexpectedly threw the agile car into the next lane.

Becky hissed in sudden alarm. In the mirror, her eyes met Lily's.  The driver nodded reassuringly.  "I know, sweetie.  I'm on it."

"On what?" Kay demanded.

Lily changed lanes again.  Then, without warning, she plunged down the off-ramp.

"What in God's name are you doing?" Kay demanded.  "This isn't the right way.  I thought you knew your way around town. Get back on the freeway, this will take forever."

In the front seat, Yvette noticed the spy's hand opening the center console and bringing out a small object.  Her hand concealed it, but Yvette needed only a glimpse of black to know what it was.  " _Vous ne pouvez pas jamais enlever les gouttes de sang sur la siege de cuir, sais toi_ ," <<You'll never get the blood stains out of these seats, you know.>>  she warned quietly. 

Lily shrugged.  " _Il est possible de remplacer les sieges , sais toi_ ," <<Seats can be replaced, you know>>  she muttered back as she tucked the gun under her leg on the seat.  She turned right at the corner with barely a pause for the red light, again causing traffic behind her to snarl.

"All right, young lady, you stop this car this instant.  I don't know what's gotten in to you, but you're going to get us all killed …"

Lily said, "Yvette, put your visor down and check your lipstick."

"I'm not wearing any."

Lily glanced at her.  "Yvette, honey, try to keep up.  Put the visor down."  She glanced again at her rear view mirror and frowned.

As she lowered the mirror and checked her non-existent make-up, Yvette saw the beige station wagon and finally caught on.  "Oh."

"Uh-huh."  Lily opened the center console again and pushed a button.  There was the buzz of a dial tone over the speaker phone.

"What in God's name is going on?" Kay demanded.

Lily pressed a second button, and without pause there was a brisk woman's voice.  "Operations."

"Romanov," Lily announced clearly, both hands back on the wheel.  "I have a 528 in the city."

"Hold please."

"What are you doing?" Kay demanded.  "What's a 528, who are you calling …" She finally looked at the mirror over Yvette's shoulder.  "Who's following us?"  She twisted to look out the rear window.

"Please don't do that," Lily snapped.

Kay turned back around.  "Who is that?  Why are they following us?  Damn it, every time I let you people get involved in something, it turns out to be dangerous."

"You people?" Lily said, very softly.

The phone cracked with a man's voice.  "Romanov?  Where are you?"

She reported their location, their direction, and described the car behind them, with as few words as possible. 

"I'm on it," the man said.  "Are you alone?"

"No.  I have Robert McCall's daughter and ex-wife, and his son's fiancée with me."

"Ahh … understood."  There was a brief silence.  "Continue your direction.  Hold for Control."

Lily nodded thoughtfully.  She changed lanes again, this time signaling as she did so.  All four women watched the mirrors as the tan wagon changed with them.

There was an interminable thirty seconds of silence. 

"He's not after you," Becky announced quietly.

Lily met her eyes in the mirror.  "We'll see."

"Well who else would they be after?" Kay demanded.  "Unless one of you has an identity I don't know about."

Control's voice cracked over the speaker phone.  "Report."

"Single tail," Romanov answered.  "Single male visible.  Very amateur.  Very little attempt at concealment.  No attempt to impede."

"Any guesses?"

"Not a one," Lily answered.

"Intercept en route," the first man said.  "Maintain direction."

Lily nodded grimly and drove on. 

"I just do not understand," Kay said.  "I thought you were undercover."

"Covers break," Lily answered tightly.  "Don't worry.  They'll snag him in a minute."  She shrugged.  "At least we're close to home."

The first man's voice returned.  "Intercept closing now. Right at the next light, please."

"Thank you so much."  She turned the car almost gently down the narrow side street and eased it past the black van parked at the curb.  As soon as she was past, the van pulled out, cutting off the station wagon.  Lily kept going, turned back onto the main street at the end of the block.  In the mirrors, they watched the van stop and Mickey Kostmayer and four others pile out.

"Intercept complete," Romanov reported.

"Good work."

"Where do you want us?"

"What was your original destination?"  

"McCall's apartment."

"We'll debrief there.  Control out."

Lily clicked the phone off and closed the console.  "Well.  That was exciting," she said dryly.

"Good Lord, Becky, pull yourself together," Kay said.

Lily looked in the mirror again.  In the back seat, Becky Baker was weeping.

 ***

"I swear to you, Robert, I wish you'd never gotten involved with these people.  And I certainly wish you'd never gotten me and your son involved."

McCall ignored her.  He was more interested in the fact that Lily shot the older woman a look and then stalked out of the room.  Anger he would have understood – and fully sympathized with.  Lily was, after all, one of 'those people' that Kay was talking about.  But the look had been, for one bare instant, one of pain. 

"It may be absolutely nothing," Robert countered gently.  He spoke as much for Becky's benefit as for Kay's.  "This man may have, I don't know, seen you in the mall and thought one of you was attractive.  He may have wanted to tell you you had a taillight out."

Kay glowered at him.  "You know that's not true.  This has something to do with _her_."

Lily was in the study, looking out the back window, and if she heard Kay, she ignored her. 

"Perhaps," Robert allowed.  "We'll see what Control is able to learn.  But in the meantime, you are here and you are safe."

"Well, yes, but we have a million things to get done still.  Being chased by some spy was not on the schedule."

McCall felt the rising impulse to scream at her.  He bit it back. It wouldn't help.  Lily was hurt and withdrawn, Kay was being Kay, but it was Becky who most concerned him.  The bride-to-be was sitting in the corner of the couch, precisely where Lily had deposited her.  Her arms were wrapped around her chest as if she were cold, her chin tucked down, her shoulders hunched.  She had not spoken.

He glanced desperately to Yvette.  She was the only one who did not seem unduly affected by the incident.  And she was her mother's daughter; she rose to the occasion with magnificent practicality.  "Well, since we're stuck here for a while, why don't we review the list, see what we can do from here while we wait?" she said calmly.

Kay threw her hands up.  "We might as well."

Something out the window had caught Lily's attention.  "Control's here."

McCall nodded.  It had only been twenty minutes since the women had arrived.  He waited a moment, then went and opened the front door.  "What's happened?" he demanded, before Control was even in.

"Nothing to worry about," Control assured him.  He glanced around the room, and Robert noted with some concern that his gaze fell last on Becky and stayed there. 

"We were followed half-way across the city," Kay snapped.  "That certainly is something to worry about."

"You were never in any danger," Control said calmly.  "The gentleman following you did not intend to harm you in any way."

"Who was he?" Lily asked.

"His name is Martin Lynch.  He's a private detective from Detroit."

Becky groaned out loud.

"A private detective?" Kay demanded, incredulous.  "What does he want?"

"He's looking for Becky."

"What?  Why?" Robert demanded.  Sick dread formed in the pit of his stomach.  Someone from Michigan looking for Becky simply could not be good.  "What does he want with her?"

The girl didn't move.  "Why?" she asked.

Slowly, careful not to startle her, Control sat down beside her on the couch.  He glanced at Kay, at Robert.  But there was no hope of getting the woman out of the room.  "Lawrence Masters is dead," he said quietly.

Becky nodded, still not looking at him.  "He died last year."

"His estate," Control explained.  "He had a number of assets, including several life insurance policies."  He hesitated.  "You were named the beneficiary of one."

"What?" Kay said.  "Who is this man?  Why is he leaving you money?"

Becky simply shuddered.

"Lynch was hired by the insurance company to find you," Control continued, ignoring Kay.  "He was bringing you this."  He reached into his jacket and brought out an envelope.

The girl finally stirred.  She looked at the envelope, then at Control, then at the envelope again. 

"It's a check for a hundred thousand dollars," he finished.

"Oh, my God," Kay muttered.

Yvette came to her father's shoulder, touched his arm questioningly.  She was intuitive enough to know that this was somehow not good news.  He patted her hand, promising an explanation later.

"We've taken care of all the necessary documents for Mr. Lynch," Control said quietly.  "And he will not repeat where he found you to anyone in Michigan."

"Th-th-thank you," Becky stammered quietly.  She still had not touched the envelope; she looked at it as if it were a live scorpion in his hand.  "I can't …"

"Of course you can," Kay said.  "This is wonderful.  Think of all the opportunities this gives you."

Becky began to cry again.  "I can't …"

Control put his hand on her shoulder.  "We'll let Robert hold this until you decide what to do with it, all right?"

She nodded miserably.  "I can't …"

"I know."

"I do not understand why there's any decision to be made," Kay said.  "Was this man your family?  Your friend?  He left the money to you, he clearly wanted you to have it …"

Becky simply sobbed. 

Lily moved suddenly to Becky's other side, touched her shoulder.  "Do you want to go?"

"G-go?" Becky asked, bewildered.  "Go where?"

"Anywhere," Lily answered.  "Away from here.  Somewhere you can breathe.  Just go."

"You can't just go," Kay protested.  "We have a million things to do still, we're already way off schedule …"

But Becky was staring at the agent.  "Go?" she repeated hopefully.

"Let's go."  Lily hauled the girl to her feet.  She had her car keys in her hand; the purses were by the door.  "We'll call you," Lily promised in Robert's general direction, and then the door was closing behind them.

"What in the world?" Kay demanded.  "Of all the irresponsible … we have a million things to do, she can't just … of all the … Robert, can't you …"

"Let them go," Robert said firmly. 

"But they can't just …"

"Kay!  There are things going on here that you have no idea about.  Let them go!"

"Well!"  Kay literally stomped into the den.

Control rolled easily to his feet.  "I'm sorry, Robert."

McCall shook his head.  "She already knew something was in the wind."  He took the envelope thoughtfully.  "I'll deal with Kay.  Somehow."

"Is somebody going to tell me what's going on?" Yvette said hopefully.

"I'll tell you what I can," Robert promised.  He shook his head.  "She didn't need this right now."

"She'll be okay," Control promised.  "With Lily."

"Oh, yes," McCall agreed.  "I can't imagine anyone she'd be better off with."  He meant it, absolutely.  But his heart with still sick with grief for the young woman who was already the daughter of his heart.

 ***

They were on the freeway again.  The car was safe; the leather seat wrapped around her like a hug.  Lily's presence, her calm, her lack of questions, further calmed Becky.   Her vision had come true, with a vengeance, but at least she knew now what it was.  It was less frightening than when it had been unknown – but it hurt far more. 

"Where are we going?" Becky finally asked. 

"Anywhere you want to go."

"I don't know where I want to go."

Lily nodded.  "I have a friend who has a cabin in the country.  Good place to think."

"He won't mind?"

"I'm sure he won't."

They fell silent again.  The Mercedes purred past other traffic. 

A hundred thousand dollars, Becky thought, over and over.  Was that the going rate these days?  She hadn't thought she was still so angry.  She thought she'd forgiven him.  But a hundred thousand dollars.  Was that enough to calm his conscience? 

No.  He was dead.  And the only thing that had calmed his conscience was her forgiveness.  The money was just money.  Just an afterthought. 

Wasn't it?

She thought it around in circles a dozen times.

They were leaving the city.  Becky became aware of the woman beside her again.  How long had she been silent?  It seemed like a very long time.  But no questions.  Not a single one.  "You know about it, don't you?  About Masters?"

Lily glanced at her.  "I know enough."

Becky blushed deeply.  Bad enough that it had happened.  Worse that everyone around her knew she'd been raped by her pastor.  And now he wanted to pay her off with a hundred thousand dollars.  She had not wanted anyone to know.  Scott, Robert, they needed to know.  But the rest …

And now Kay would have to know, too.

"When I was ten," Lily said unexpectedly, "my father gambled my virginity to his friends in a poker game and lost."

The air flew out of Becky's lungs as if she'd been punched in the gut.  "Wh-what?"

"You heard me," the other woman said tightly.  "We are not going to talk about it.  But don't think you're all alone."

Becky could feel her suddenly.  Lily, uncovered.  Black terror and orange-blue fireballs of rage and hiding deep in the cold, safe but so very alone.  "Oh my God."

Just as suddenly, the feeling was gone.  Lily had wrapped her emotions up tight again.  "I don't think God had anything to do with it.  Either time."

Becky looked out the window, fighting for breath.  It was horrible that her friend's confession made her feel better.  Misery loves company, but she felt bad for taking comfort in Lily's pain.  And the absolute fury of Lily's feelings was terrifying.  When she was ten, she'd said, and after all these years she still carried such rage.  Becky shook her head.  No matter how bad things were, there was always someone worse off than you.

Except that Lily neither wanted nor needed her pity.  Lily did just fine all by herself.

At least I have Scott, Becky thought.

Then she was crying.

"What?" Lily asked quietly.

"S-scott.  I don't know how to … I-I can't … I d-don't …" She took a big gulp and tried to calm herself.  "I don't know what to do now."

"You don't have to decide everything at once," Lily answered.  "Break it down into bite sizes.  Do you want to see Scott?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to have him come to the cabin?  Away from Kay?"

"Yes.  B-but the wedding, the pl-pl-plans …"

""One thing at a time," Lily repeated firmly.  "Scott at the cabin.  Then you can talk it out, figure out what you want to do.  Go ahead with the wedding or postpone it, it's up to you."

"Kay will have a fit."

"Fuck her."

Against her will and through her misery, Becky chuckled.  "You really hate her, don't you?"

"You people," Lily quoted grimly.  "If she says 'you people' one more time I swear to God I'm going to kill her."

"Oh."

The agent glanced at her.  "Sorry." 

Becky shrugged.  "I'm not sure I'd try to stop you.  She makes me feel like … I'm too common for her."

"Cracker trash," Lily muttered.  "Anyhow, don't worry about her.  Whatever you decide, Robert will make her deal with it.  Just do what's best for you."

Becky sniffed.  "Thank you."

"Hey, us low-lifes gotta stick together." 

 ***

Scott came back from rehearsal just after eight.  He was visibly tired, his face pale, dark circles under his eyes and a bag of ice cubes loosely in his left hand.  He looked around his father's living room, noted the solemn silence of his sister and father, the silent anger of his mother. "Where's Becky?"

Robert stood up and carried the envelope to him as if it held a cancer.  "This was delivered this afternoon," he said grimly.

Scott glanced at the contents and understood immediately.  "Damn it.  Where's Becky?"

"She's run off with that woman," Kay snapped.  "We have a million things to do and she just …"

"Mother!"  He turned to Robert.  "She's with Lily?"

"Yes.  She's very upset, of course, but she's safe."

Scott waved the check absently.  "How did they find her?"

"The insurance company hired a private detective."

"Why did they need to hire a private detective?" Kay demanded.  "And why should she be so hard to find?  What is she, some kind of criminal?"

"No," Scott said.

"All right.  That's enough. All these mysteries and secrets – I demand to know what's going on, right now. And Robert, if this woman is any danger to my son and you haven't told me …"

"Mother, shut up!"

Kay took a shocked breath.  "You can't talk to me that way, young man.  How dare you!"

Scott ignored her and turned back to Robert.  "Where's the detective now?"

"He's been taken care of.  Control handled it.  He won't bother her again, and he won't tell anyone where he found her."

"You make it sound like Control had him killed," Kay accused.

"I don't care if he did," Scott snapped.  "Becky's with Lily?"

"Yes."

"She's perfectly fine," Kay snapped back.   "She's hysterical, but she's fine.  Now I want some answers, and I want them right now.  What kind of irresponsible woman are you marrying here, Scott?  Because from what I've seen today she's unbalanced.  She's not stable at all.  Someone gives her a pile of money and she's crying like it's the end of the world …"

"Mother.  Stop it."

"You tell me the truth," Kay demanded.  "You tell me right now or so help me …"

"What?" Scott demanded.  "So help you what?  You'll never speak to us again?  Fine.  Do it.  I don't care.  You don't know anything about Becky, you don't know what this check means, who this man was, and all you can think about is how it's going to affect your stupid buffet dinner and whether we re-use flowers at the church.  You don't know anything!"

"How dare you!"

And then Kay did what she'd always done when confronted with an angry man:  She turned to Robert.  "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

McCall folded his arms.  "Yes."

She spun on her son again.  "After all I've done for you.  Put my whole life on hold to arrange this wedding for you, even though I really do not approve of this woman …"

"I didn't ask you to approve!  And I didn't ask you to plan this wedding.  You think I want all this?  All these people I barely know?  All I wanted was to marry the woman I love and leave the country.  You're the one who insisted on, on _table favors_."

"If you really felt that way you should have said something …"

"I would have, mother, except that Becky – that woman you really do not approve of – said that she wanted you to have whatever you wanted.  You don't even know her.  You've never even tried to know her.  You just decided that she wasn't our kind and turned your back on her.  Just what the hell do you think _our kind_ is, anyhow?"

"Scott, I will not be treated this way …"

" _You_ won't be treated this way?  How do you think you've treated _her_?"

"I've heard enough," Kay said.  She gathered her purse and stalked towards the door.  "I'm leaving."

"Good," Scott snarled.  "Fine.  Go.  That's what you always do, isn't it?  The minute things get tough, the minute they don't go your way, you bail.  You're going to bail on me and Becky exactly like you bailed on Dad."

Robert stirred.  "Scott."

"It's true, isn't it?  She had this perfect idea of what a family should be, and when you didn't measure up to it she bailed.  Just like this wedding.  If it isn't exactly what she thinks a wedding should be, she's just going to walk out."

Kay began to cry.  "I can't believe you'd talk to me that way.  I just … I just can't."  She stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

With the object of his fury gone, Scott suddenly seemed smaller.  He put his hand to his face.  "Dad … I have to go find Becky."

"Wait," Robert advised calmly.  "They'll call."

"But Dad …"

"Wait." 

The young man made a fist of his already-sore hand and slammed it against the wall.

 ***

At the intersection was a small gas station and grocery store.  Lily slung the Mercedes into a spot next to a pick-up truck with severe rust cancer.  She opened the console and dialed swiftly.  In a moment, she said, "Robert, it's me." 

Becky found a tissue in her purse and blew her nose.  She didn't even know where they were.  She didn't care.  This woman, and Robert, and Scott, they would take care of her.  It wasn't the end of the world.  It was only a check.  A check from a dead man who couldn't hurt her any more.

"We're going," Lily was saying, "to that place where you and I first met."  She nodded her satisfaction at Robert's reply.  "That's it.  Can you bring Scott out?"  There was a bit more discussion, and then she put the phone down.  "The dragon queen is having a snit," she announced with satisfaction.  "Come on, we'll get some grub."

They went inside and got eggs and milk and bread.  "It's pretty well stocked with staples," Lily advised.  "And we're only ten, fifteen miles away, if you decide to stay on a while."

Becky nodded.  She couldn't think about food, or meals.  She didn't protest when the older woman threw a carton of ice cream into the battered plastic basket.  She didn't protest the wine, either. 

She did protest when Lily paid for it all.  "I have money," she said, fumbling for her purse.

"Phooey," Lily replied.  "My cabin, my treat."

They got back in the car.  "I thought you said the cabin belonged to a friend."

Lily glanced at her.  "A very close friend."

"Oh." 

They were five minutes down the road before she spoke again.  "Would you keep it?  The money?"

Lily didn't hesitate.  "Absolutely."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"But …" Becky paused, looked out her window.  There was nothing but trees on both sides of the road.  "It feels like I'm being paid for … for …sex.  It feels like I'm letting him pay me for … like that's supposed to make it all right.  That's just stupid, isn't it?"

"If that's how you feel, it isn't stupid," Lily answered.  "If you don't want the money, don't take it.  Give it to a charity.  Give it to Robert, I'm sure he could get it to someone who really needs it.  Don't give it back to the insurance company, though, okay?"

"Okay."

The numbers seven-nine-five-four hit Becky like a brick.  She used to get flashes like that on the lottery, but this was different.  This was rage.  Lily's numbers.  It left her breathless. Then it was gone.

"Or you could use it to buy back some dreams," Lily said quietly.

"Dreams?"

The older woman shook her head.  "It's none of my business."

"I asked for your opinion."

Perhaps five miles passed while Lily contemplated her next words.  "It's not the sex.  That was bad enough.  But he took away your dreams."

"I didn't have any dreams," Becky answered.  "I was just a kid, I didn't know what I wanted."

"You had … expectations.  Things you had a right to.  Christmas mornings with your family.  The prom.  Learning to drive.  Graduation.  Birthdays.  All those things that should have been yours, all the steps of growing up.  Those things he took away."

Becky nodded.  Tears slid down her face, a blend of grief and relief that someone else finally understood. 

"If you keep this money," Lily continued, "you can use it to buy a dream, or two.  Not the ones he took.  Those are gone.  But something new.  A start on your own restaurant.  Or that house with the picket fence.  Or a coffee maker that's too extravagant to justify.  Or … hell, I don't even know what you want.  And maybe you don't, either.  But whatever it is, when you find it, if that money makes it possible for you to have it, when you couldn't have before …" She shook her head.  "I don't know, Becky.  It's up to you."  

Becky wiped her eyes.  "I could just … put it away."

"Yes."

"Scott would worry a lot less, if we had some savings."

"Scott would not want you to keep it because of him."

"No.  Not for him.  But for us."

Lily nodded thoughtfully.  "It's up to you."

She turned off the main road and onto a single-lane dirt driveway.  It turned sharply around the trees and climbed steeply to a clearing at the top of the hill.  At the back of the clearing, overlooking a long valley, stood a large cabin.  Lily parked at the front door and climbed out.

Becky followed her to the front door.  It was pretty here in the twilight.  The trees, the sky, the stunning sunset.  Peaceful.  A good place to think, Lily had said.  It was. 

As the older woman opened the door, Becky got another wave off her.  It was powerful – Lily didn't seem to have any emotions that weren't – but it wasn't angry.  It was love.

Stepping through the door was like stepping into a sanctuary.  In an instant, Becky knew everything.  The pieces clicked smoothly, softly, and the whole picture came clear at last.  "Of course," she said, very softly.  The surprise jolted her out of her misery. She wondered why she hadn't seen it before. 

"Of course?" Lily asked curiously.

"Of course," Becky repeated.  "You're the woman.  Control's woman."

 ***

On any other day, his father's driving style would have unnerved Scott McCall.  There was something about Company people that made them think they were immune to the normal laws of traffic and physics.  Every one of them drove like a maniac.

Tonight he didn't care how fast they went, as long as they got there.

"She's all right, Scott," Robert said calmly. 

"I know."  He made a fist and pounded the side door panel softly.  "I just wish … why did this have to happen _now_?  Three more days and we would've been gone.  This would have been so much easier with a phone call, _after_ the wedding..."  He brought the fist to his mouth and gnawed his knuckles.  "No, it wouldn't.  I just … damn it, I thought once he was _dead_ we'd be done with this."

Robert nodded.  He couldn't think of anything useful to say.  Scott didn't seem to require anything.  He just needed to rant.

"Mom must be having a cow."

"Hmm, yes."

"We're going to have to tell her the whole story, aren't we?"  The fist hit the door again.

Robert shrugged.  "We'll let Becky decide that.  We may simply tell your mother that it's none of her business."

"Oh, she'll love that."

"Yes, well.  You'll be in Europe.  It will give her time to accept the reality."

Scott shook his head.  "I don't know if I'm going to Europe.  I don't know if we're getting married.  I don't know anything."

"Do you still know you love her?"

"Absolutely."

"The rest will sort itself out."

Scott knocked his head against the window.  "Damn it.  Damn it, damn it, damn it."

The car phone rang and Robert snagged it.  "McCall."

There was a woman's voice muffled at the other end, and then Robert chuckled.  "All right, love, I'll take care of it.  We'll be there in, oh, half an hour."

As he put down the phone, Scott said, "Is Becky all right?"

"She's fine," Robert said.  He seemed dryly amused still.  "They're at the cabin, getting settled in.  They're fine."

"This isn't that crappy cabin we stayed at, is it?"

Robert scowled at him. "The one we blew up?  No."  Then he relented; his son had a point.  Their last cabin adventure had not ended well.  "This is a very nice cabin.  Very nice indeed.  All renovated and updated – a veritable love nest." 

"Why is that so funny?" Scott asked irritably.

"Ahh … hmmm."  Robert considered the road ahead of them.  "Well, you see, an unintended consequence of taking Becky to the cabin is that she's had one of her moments of intuition." 

"Huh?"

"She's discovered who the cabin belongs to and why."  He considered.  "The cabin, technically, belongs to Miss Romanov.  She shares it on a fairly regular basis with her lover.  And I have been asked to let you in on the secret."

Scott had no patience for the amusement game.  "Look, Dad, no offense, but I've got better things to think about than you banging Lily Romanov at this cabin."

"Me?"  Robert was genuinely startled.  "You think _I'm_ having an affair with her?"

"I knew about it a long time ago, Dad.  Look, whatever you do in the privacy of your own home, or cabin, or whatever, I don't want to know."

"That's very understanding of you, Scott.  Very mature."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"No," Robert promised.  "But I assure you, I have never – what was that elegant phrase you used? – 'banged' that young woman."

"Okay, fine."

"Though I admit is has crossed my mind a time or two.  As I'm sure it has yours."

"Dad."

"She's Control's lover, Scott."

"She's _what_?"

McCall glanced over at him.  "She's Control's lover."

"She's sleeping with Control?" 

"I must say, I prefer 'sleeping with' over 'banging'," Robert said mildly.  "And I suppose they would argue for something like 'involved in a long-term and deeply committed relationship', but sleeping with will cover it for the purposes of this conversation, yes."

"But ... but ... with Control? He's like, twice her age!"

"Yes.  So am I, and you were accepting of that."  Robert looked at him again.  The boy seemed genuinely distressed.  "Scott, why are you so upset by this?  It barely affects you."

"Doesn't it bother you?" Scott demanded.  "She was your lover and then she just bounced to your best friend.  How can that not bother you?"

Robert shook his head vigorously.  "No, no, no, Scott.  She was never my lover."

"Never?"

"Never."

"But then … why is she doing all of this for us?  All this wedding stuff, all this other stuff … if she's not your lover …"

"She likes you," McCall answered.  "Beyond that – explain to me what motivates any woman at any time.  I don't know. "

Scott shook his head.  "I don't get it.  How could she be with _him_?  He's her _boss_!"

"Well, that is merely the tip of the impropriety iceberg for the whole arrangement," McCall answered.  "And one of several reasons this has to stay completely secret.  We're only telling you because Becky already knows.  But it must stay absolutely confidential."

"Would they get fired?"

"They'd be killed."

"Killed?"

"Yes."

"Both of them."

"Yes."

Scott sat back.  "Wow.  I can't … wow."  Then, "How long have you know about it?"

"Some years."

 "Years."

"Yes.  Longer than you've been with Becky."

"And they've kept it a secret.  All this time."

"Yes."

Scott shook his head.  "I can’t believe it."  He put his hands over his face for a moment.  "Control and Lily.  Becky and her past.  Mickey.  Yvette.  You … damn, am I the only one without some deep dark secret in my past?"

Robert chuckled, reached to ruffle his son's hair fondly.  "Well, I think we know pretty much everything about your mother."

Scott groaned into his hands.  His father chuckled out loud.

 ***

It was fully dark by the time they turned off the main road.  Scott barely seemed to notice the spray of gravel as his father slung the Jaguar up the narrow drive.  He leaned forward, eager for a glimpse of the cabin.  He felt, Robert guessed, as if he were very late.  Robert felt that way too.

But the cabin at the top of the hill was quiet, the clearing peaceful.  The windows were lit with a warm glow. Lily's Mercedes sat like a patient, comforting presence.

McCall parked next to it and stepped out of the car.  Scott was already scrambling towards the porch.  Robert half-expected Lily to appear from the back with a gun in her hand, as she had the first time he'd met her. If he had known then what an incredibly bad shot she was …

But the door opened and Lily stepped onto the porch with her hands empty. 

She stepped to the edge of the porch, which made her tall enough to wrap her arms easily around Scott's shoulders.  Robert was too far off to hear what she murmured to him, but his son shuddered at the comfort and gripped her even tighter.  Lily stroked his hair and kept talking, in a way that struck Robert as eerily maternal. 

At length, he released her.  Lily handed him something shiny – car keys, Robert guessed.  He crossed the porch to the door, paused and turned back.  "Thanks, Dad," he called.

Robert waved.  "We'll talk to you tomorrow."

Scott went inside, and Lily came down to the Jaguar.  "I'm leaving them the Benz," she said quietly.

Robert nodded.  "Thank you.  For all of this."

The woman shrugged.  There was something very distant in her manner.  The warmth she had shown Scott was gone.  "I'd like to go home now."

"Of course.  Of course."  McCall climbed back into the driver's seat without complaint.  It had been a two hour drive up, another two back.  He considered it a very small thing, in the face of everything else.

Lily sank into the passenger seat without a word.  When Robert looked over at the bottom of the driveway, her eyes were closed.

 ***

Scott stepped quietly into the cabin.  He took a quick look around and thought, aside, it was way nicer than the cabin Robert had once taken him to.  Of course, Control had never struck him as the type to rough it if he didn't have to.  So this was where he ran away to meet his mistress.  Holy shit.

Then he saw Becky waiting for him and all those thoughts vanished.  He crossed the room and swept her into his arms.  "Oh, Becky.  Oh, sweetie."

She had been crying, and she started again now.  "I'm so sorry," she said against his chest.

"For what?"

"F-for making such a fuss.  For making everybody go to so much t-t-trouble.  For making a fool of myself."

"Oh, shhh.  That doesn't matter.  They understand."

"B–but … it's just a check.  I shouldn't let it get to me like this."

"Says who?"

"Well – K-Kay, for one.  And everybody must think I'm such an idiot."

Scott shook his head.  "I don't.  Dad doesn't.  Lily doesn't."

"Kay does."

He stiffened.  "I don't care what she thinks any more."  He held her for another minute, then shifted and led her to the couch, where they curled up together.  "Listen," Scott said.  "I don't care what anybody else thinks.  I know what this man did to you, and I know how much this hurt you.  And you have every right to be as upset as you need to be."

Becky began to cry in earnest.  Scott gathered her closer and held her, and let her cry.

He would have let her cry in his arms all night if she needed to.  But his stomach, unfed since lunch, grumbled in protest.  Becky sat up.  "You must be starving," she said through her tears.

"It doesn't matter."

She struggled out of his arms and stood.  "We got groceries.  I'll fix you something."

"You don't have to do that."

"No.  Enough crying."  Becky pushed away her tears with her palms.  "I need to think – we need to think – and I do that best when I'm cooking.  Come on."

Reluctantly, he followed her to the kitchen.  It was surprisingly modern.  "This is way nicer than the cabin my dad took me to," he said grudgingly.

Becky glanced at him.  "You know why, don't you?"

"I know."  He sighed.  "Control and Lily.  Who'd have thought?"

"It should have been obvious," Becky said.  "I mean – once you know, it's obvious.  But they've been really secret about it."

"They have to be.  Dad says the Company would kill them."

"I know."  She brought out eggs and milk and bread, without asking what he was in the mood for.  She knew him well enough to know that if it was hot and sweet, it would do.  "It's just … if you could feel how much he loves her …" She shook her head.  "I hope they find a way to be together."

Scott gestured around.  "I think they kinda have."

Becky shook her head.  "This is just … sneaking away, weekends, hours … it's not enough."  She paused, feeling the feelings of this place.  "There is so much here.  And yet – it's not enough."

Ravenous, Scott took a piece of plain bread and chewed on it.  Becky turned back to cooking.  "Does she love him?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you could feel how much he loved her.  But does she love him?"

"I …"  Becky hesitated, then turned on the stove.  "She must.  But I can't read her.  I've never been able to.  Until tonight, and then just little glimpses."  She shuddered softly.  "I don't think I want to read her.  She's – she's been through way more than I have."

Scott put his arm around her again.  "Well, you've been through enough.  It's not a competition."

"I know."  She dropped the French toast into the skillet.  "What are we going to do, Scott?"

"What about?"

"About the money.  About the wedding."

He shook his head.  "The money is up to you.  We can send it back, we can donate it, we can keep it.  Whatever you feel best about."

"I don't know."

"You don't have to decide right now."

"And the wedding?"  She flipped the French toast onto a plate and started a second batch. 

Scott took the plate and went in search of syrup.  "Whatever you want to do."

"You're no help."

He smiled.  "Becky, look.  We have the license.  We can go back tomorrow and find that guy and give him fifteen bucks and be married.  Tell my mother to piss off, and go to Europe.  Or we can call it all off, not go to Europe, see what happens.  Or we can go ahead with the Kay Spectacular.  Or something in between.  Whatever you want."

"She'd be crushed if we called it off."

"I don't care," Scott said brusquely.  "It's not her wedding."

"Scott."

"Becky, it's not.  She's taken over this whole thing, she's run it exactly the way she wants it, she's barely asked us what we wanted.  This is _our_ wedding.  And whether we get married now or later, in a church or on the steps of city hall, it's our decision, not hers.  She gets no vote in this."

His anger caused Becky to flinch.  Scott shook his head remorsefully and spoke more calmly.  "Let's stay here tonight.  We can decide in the morning."

After a moment, Becky nodded.  "Yes.  This is a good place."

 ***

"I rather thought," Robert said quietly, "that when you said we should stop to eat, you would actually be eating something."

Lily looked up from the steak she'd been pushing around her plate.  "Sorry.  Not much appetite."

"Try."

She took one bite, chewed like she might choke on it, and finally managed to swallow.  "Happy?"

"Three more bites, please."

Lily rolled her eyes, but managed a bite of potato.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

The woman looked at him with eyes from the pit of hell.   "Seventy-nine dollars and fifty-four cents."

"What?"

"Plus a quarter for ice cream."

"I'm sorry, I've no idea what you're talking about."

Lily's eyes were expressionless again.  "I was thinking about how things get more expensive over time."

"I still don't follow."

She shrugged.  "It doesn't matter."

She forked up one more bite of steak, then gave up.

 ***

As soon as they were back in the car, the phone rang.  With a baleful glance, Robert picked it up.  "McCall."

"It's Becky."

"Hello, love."

"I-I'm sorry to be so much trouble …"

"You are no trouble at all, my dear."

"A-a-and you've already done so much for us …"

"What would you like me to do, love?"

She took a deep, shaky breath.  "Could you – could you explain to Kay for me?"

Robert stared at the highway ahead for a moment.  "Of course I can.  Of course.  If you're sure that's what you want."

"I'm sure.  Thank you."

He put down the phone.  Lily looked at him quizzically.   "Is there some new law," Robert said aloud, "that makes me the official deliverer of bad news for all the young ladies I am acquainted with?"

Lily shrugged.  "I put the word out.  You do it so well."

 ***

They built a fire, though it was not cold, and cuddled in front of it in silence. 

The fire invoked spirits, whispers of emotions that lingered here.  Not all of them were pleasant, and some were as dark as anything Becky had ever known.  But they were muted by time and overwritten by love that also flourished here.  If walls could talk, people said, and walls did talk to Becky, sometimes, but always in shades and shadows, never in words. 

"They've been through worse," she said out loud.

"Hmm?" Scott asked drowsily.

"Control and Lily.  They've been through worse than this.  And they're still whole."

He stirred.  "Oh."

"She didn't think about that, before she brought me here.  Lily.  She just thought, this was where she went when she felt worst, and it got better here."

"Uh-huh," Scott said.  "That makes sense, I guess."

They were quiet for a long time, until a log collapsed in a little spray of sparks and Scott had to get the poker and push it back to the center of the fire. 

"I still want to get married," Becky said.

"Oh, good.  Big or small?"

She sighed.  "I'm scared to death of the big wedding, you know."

"Why?"

"Having to talk in front of all those people.  I know I'm going to st-stutter.  I hate that."

Scott settled back and gathered her against his chest again.  "As long as you can get out 'I do', I don't care."

"I think I can manage that.  It's all the rest."

"I still got fifteen bucks."

Becky smiled sadly.  "Everybody's done so much work."

"I told you before, this isn't about everybody.  It's about you and me.  And how you feel."

She nodded against his chest.  "I think we can do this."

"Sure," Scott agreed heartily.  "It'll still be an adventure."

 ***

McCall offered to walk Lily to her door and she gave him that look, the one that meant he was being sexist again and she was perfectly capable of handling any mugger who might be lurking in her hallway.  He had to agree, at least with the last half of her unspoken thought.  So he let her open her own car door.  But he remained at the curb, the Jaguar idling throatily, until she was safely inside and up the stairs.

She had barely spoken all the way back from the cabin.  She had been as silent as politeness would allow.  She was hurting, deeply, and for reasons that Robert could not begin to fathom.  Becky he understood; this one, he had only his suspicions about her past.

But he knew someone who knew.  So he waited there, still idling, and dialed the forbidden number.

He was not at all surprised that Control was in his office, though it was nearly midnight.   "What?"

"It's Robert."

The spymaster's tone mollified.  "Is everyone all right?"

"As all right as they can be.  Scott's with Becky.  I imagine they'll be back tomorrow, though I can't say for sure.  She's badly rattled."

"I know."

"There is something else," Robert said carefully.  "I'm a bit concerned about the other young lady."

"Why?"

"She seems unaccountably distressed.  I asked why, and all she would say was something about seventy-nine dollars and some change. I thought perhaps you knew what that signified."

"I have no idea," Control answered.  He sounded perfectly sincere, but then he always did, whether he was lying or not. 

"Plus a quarter for ice cream, she said."

There was a pause.  "Damn."

"You do know what it means, then."

"I do."  Control's voice was biting cold now, angry.  "Oh, I do.  Thank you for letting me know.  I'll take care of it."

"I thought you would."

Robert put down the phone and rubbed his eyes.  He was tired.  Too much driving, too much pain.  And his night wasn't over yet.  But Scott was with Becky, and Control, unless he missed his guess, would be here soon with Lily.  There was nothing else he could do for either of them.

Except that one aching favor he had left to do.

He put the Jag in gear and made a U-turn.

 ***

Anne Keller drifted to sleep.

She was naked.  Her auburn hair spread in a soft tangle under her head, like an aura on her pillow.  Her milk-pale skin was dappled red here and there from the friction of her lover's body, and a small mouth-shaped bruise deepened to purple at the base of her throat. 

The lovemaking had been intense and extended and exhausting.

But Mickey stirred next to her, and her eyes fluttered open.  He was propped on one elbow, also naked, watching her sleep.  "What?" she murmured.

"Nothing," he said warmly.  "Just looking at you."

"Mmm."  She closed her eyes again and drifted, then dragged herself back awake when he stayed still.  "Why?"

"Because you're beautiful.  Because I love you."

Anne studied him.  His eyes were serious, sad.

"Because I want to remember you like this," he finished.

She took a slow breath.  "Because you're leaving."

Mickey nodded.  "Sunday night."

A dozen emotions passed through her mind.  They'd been expecting this for weeks.  This had been a longer break then they could have hoped for.  And, in some ways, she knew he was anxious for it to be over.  Not to be away from her, but to be on with the mission. 

And yet, and yet.

He would go, and she might never see him again.

And yet.

There was nothing to say.  There never had been.  She reached her arms out and drew his body back to hers.

 ***

Robert paused outside the hotel room door.  He was tired.  No.  He was exhausted.  He wanted nothing more than to go home to a hot shower and a cold Scotch, a quiet hour with a soothingly dry old book.  He did not, emphatically not, want to deal with Kay and her emotions.  Not tonight.

He rubbed his forehead, where a monster of a headache was gathering.  Then he knocked on the door.

Kay answered immediately.  She was still dressed, though she'd kicked her shoes off.  She looked at Robert in some surprise.  "Oh."

"You were expecting Scott."

"I … no.  Come in.  Is she okay?  Becky?"

As if you care, Robert thought sharply.  He held his tongue.  "She's a little calmer.  Scott's with her."

"How's he?"

Robert looked around the spacious suite.  On the side table, Kay's suitcase lay open.  She had packed a few things, a token of her leaving which she had no real intention of doing.  He wondered if Scott would have known. 

"Robert?"

"Hmm?"

"Is Scott all right?"

He looked back at her.  She seemed genuinely concerned.  "He's all right."

"He's never spoken to me like that before, Robert."

"Really?  He speaks to me like that on a regular basis."

Kay looked away.  She seemed on the verge of tears.  Perhaps, Robert relented mentally, she really was.  She took a deep breath.  "Would you like a drink?"

Might as well, he thought: I'm paying for it.  "That would be nice."

She got him a drink, and one for herself.  When they were settled on the couch, she asked, "Was he right?"

"Hmm?"

"Scott.  When he said I didn't understand anything.  Was he right?"

Robert took a slow drink.  Kay was being calm, reasonable.  For all her demanding hysterics, when the chips were down, when she knew they were down, Kay could be as solid as a rock.  "You don't understand about Becky, no.  You couldn't possibly, of course, because you've been given no chance to."

She looked away and drank.  "Please, Robert.  I would like to understand."

McCall nodded.  "That's why I'm here, Kay.  I will tell you Becky's story, because she's asked me to.  Because she thinks that you deserve to know."

"But you don't," Kay bristled.

He spread his hands for peace.  "It is not my story, not my choice.  I would keep her confidence if she asked me to.  That is what I do."

"Keep secrets.  Yes, I know."

Robert studied her calmly.  "As I have kept your secrets, Kay, when you've asked me to."

She met his gaze, and for an instant, just an instant, everything they had been together was back.  It seared through them like a passionate kiss, a bittersweet reminder of what they'd lost.          

Kay looked away.  "What happened to her, Robert?  Who is this reverend … what was his name?"

McCall straightened. "Lawrence Masters.  The Reverend Doctor Lawrence Masters."

"Did she kill him?"

"No."

"What, then?"

He took another drink, noting with appreciation that Kay waited in silence.  There was no easy way to say it, any of it.  "Becky drowned when she was a child.  She was clinically dead for some minutes.  And when they revived her she was psychic."

"Psychic?" Kay asked skeptically.

"Yes."

"You don't actually believe that."

Robert sighed.  "I wish I didn't.  But I've seen things, Kay.  Warnings she's given me …" He shrugged.  "It doesn't matter, that part.  You can believe it or not.  What matters is that her family believed it.  And they became afraid for her – or of her.  So they asked Dr. Masters to drive out the demons."

Kay's skepticism deepened.  "An exorcism?"

"Of sorts.  Not the Catholic rite, but the same principle."

"But it didn't work."  Robert frowned at her.  "You said she's still psychic."

He nodded.  "Yes.  Well, whatever her family thought was going to take place …" He closed his eyes briefly.  Then he stood up and paced, drinking.  Kay waited.  "He raped her, Kay.  She was a child, she was entrusted to his care, and he …" 

He slammed back the rest of his drink.

Kay rose in silence, took the glass from his hand and refilled it.  She put it in his hand, then slid into his arms and held him.  "I'm sorry, Robert."

He took considerable comfort in her embrace.  He hadn't known he needed it, but he welcomed it.  "For what?"

"For her.  For you, having to tell me.  For all of it."  Her head was still on his chest, in the familiar way.  "Scott knows?"

"Yes."

"For him, too, then.  Was this Masters, was he ever prosecuted?"

"No.  Becky was very traumatized.  She was mute for more than a year.  And when she finally did speak, he denied it, claimed it was her demons speaking." Robert paused.  "Her family sided with Masters."

"Oh my God."  Kay backed away from him.  "You must be joking."

Robert shook his head sadly.  "Becky got some treatment, some help from the authorities, and then she came to New York.  She's supported herself ever since."

"And her family …"

"They have no idea where she is.  And I'm sure that's for the best."

"Yes.  Oh, yes.  Oh, Robert, that poor child …"

"No, Kay," he said firmly.  "She doesn't need your pity.  She doesn't want it."

"But all this time, all the talk about her family, all the times I've insisted she must have someone somewhere …"  Tears filled Kay's eyes.  "Oh, Robert, how could you?  How could you let me be so cruel?"

McCall sighed.  "Kay …"

"If I had known I never would have … I could have been so much more … damn you, Robert!  You just let me blunder on while all the time you knew … you should have said something, Robert."

"I had promised to keep her confidence," Robert answered tartly.

Kay sagged, her rant deflated before it had properly begun.  "I know, Robert.  I'm sorry.  It's just … Lily said … God, I have made such a fool of myself.  And hurt that child a dozen times over."

"She knows you didn't know."

"That doesn't excuse it."  She drank.  "You might have found a way to say something, without betraying her confidence."

Robert nodded solemnly, though he wasn't sure he agreed.  "I apologize.  To be honest this whole affair has caught me a bit off-balance."

"Off-balance?  You?"  Kay smiled grimly.  "I don't believe that for a minute."

"It's true," he smiled back sadly.  "For what it's worth, you have not lost you ability to turn my world on its ear."

"Coming from you, Mr. McCall, that's quite a compliment."  She sat back down.  "So this Masters, he's dead now?"

"Yes.  He died from a brain tumor."

"And left her money in his will.  The miserable bastard."

Robert raised one eyebrow.  "He may have meant it as an act of kindness."

"No.  He just wanted to remind her one more time."

Robert shrugged.  He had been there, at the revival where Masters had begged the girl's forgiveness.  But that was a story Kay would never hear.  That was his to keep.  

"This detective.  Will he tell her family where she is?"

"No.  Control's taken care of that."

"Oh."  Kay's lips pursed.  She still didn't have any use for Robert's oldest friend, after all these years.  "Yes, you said that before.  What's he got to do with this, anyhow?  With Becky?"

"She … sometimes provides him with ... insights."

"Oh, Robert, you haven't let her get involved with him, have you?  An innocent child like Becky?"

"They're not close," Robert promised.  Never mind that he himself had admonished Control repeatedly about involving the child in her various schemes; that was none of Kay's business either.

Kay sighed.  "So many secrets.  After all this time, you still keep so many secrets."

Robert nodded grimly.  "It is what I do," he repeated.

 

 


	12. Day Two (Friday)

It was after midnight when he got there, and the apartment was dark.  Control locked the kitchen door behind him and made his way quietly to the bedroom.  As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that the bed was empty.  Frowning, he went back to look in the living room.

The room also seemed empty.  He waited, and in a moment a small voice from the dark corner beside the couch said, "I'm here."

Control sat on the corner of the couch, near her but carefully not reaching for her.  "Tell me what you need, love."

"I'm all right," Lily answered.  Her voice was flat, lifeless.

"No, you're not.  You're upset.  You have every right to be."

She was quiet for a time.  "It's stupid, really.  After all I've lived through, after they're all long dead, they can still make me hide in the corner."

"Most women," Control answered gently, "would never have made it out of the corner in the first place.  It's understandable that you need to retreat once in a while."

"No."  Her voice was still lifeless, and her face stayed hidden in shadows.  "Not the resourceful secret agent Lily.  She never retreats."

"Of course she does.  Whenever retreat means survival.  Stay alive, protect yourself, finish the mission another day." 

Lily was silent.  When she spoke again, there was pain – and life – in her voice.  "There wasn't even a hundred fucking dollars."

"I know."

"He traded me for … he traded me for …"

"I know, love.  Come here."

There was silence again.  After a minute, he heard her move.  Lily stood, pale in a white cotton gown, and stepped towards him like a bride, or a ghost.  She sat down next to him, not touching him, and though he longed to crush her in his arms, he stayed still.  They had been through all of this before. 

"I told her to keep the money," Lily said calmly.

"Becky?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"I fed her some line of bullshit about being able to buy back some of her dreams.  About replacing some of what she lost."

"Sounds reasonable."

"No, it's just bullshit.  You can't replace it.  You sure as hell can't replace it with money."

"No," Control agreed.  "You can only go forward and try to make a better life for yourself."

"She should have the damn money.  She should get a lot more, but she never will."

"You do know you're contradicting yourself."

"I know."  Lily reached out and took his hand.  "You shouldn't have come."

"You let me worry about secrecy, all right?"

"It's your life on the line.  I'll worry about it if I want to."  She sighed.  "Oh.  And the children know about us."

"The cabin."

"Becky knew the minute she hit the door."

Control nodded thoughtfully.  "We expected them to know a long time ago.  It can't be helped.  I trust them.  Is the wedding still on?"

"I don't know."

He drew her closer, put his arm around her.  "Tell me how I can help."

"Just … stay.  Please, will you stay?"

Control smiled in the darkness and kissed her very gently.

 ***

In the morning, Becky made a massive breakfast – coffee, eggs, sausage, pancakes, hash browns.  She was mostly silent while she cooked, but she seemed calm, if not happy.  Scott started to protest that she didn't have to fuss about it, they could stop somewhere on the way back to the city.  He didn't.  Cooking was what Becky loved, and it helped her think. 

Besides, her cooking was better than any restaurant's he'd ever been in.

"When do you have to be at rehearsal?" she asked, putting the last dish on the table.

"Noon," he said, around a mouthful of eggs.  He paused to swallow.  "We're supposed to have just one final run-through.  I should be home by four, at the latest."

They both knocked on the wood table. 

"You should pick up your tux on the way out, then."

Scott groaned.  "I don't want to go by myself."

"What's so scary about a little old woman?" Becky asked.

"Think about my mother in fifty years.  With pins and a big stick."

"Oh."  Becky smiled.  "We could stop on the way in.  I'd go with you." 

Scott shook his head.  "I don’t have my shoes with me.  Madam Olga will not be pleased." He finished his sausage. "You're sure you want to do this?  We could stop by city hall."

She considered for a long moment.  "Let's go big.  What's the worst that can happen?"

After a second, they both knocked wood again.

 ***

A bit later, Robert McCall put down his telephone with a satisfied nod.  "They're on their way home," he announced to the ladies gathered in his living room.  "And the wedding is on."

There was a unison sigh of relief.  "Is Becky okay?" Yvette asked.

"She's likely to be shaken up still," Robert answered.  "But she's okay."

Kay stood.  "We have a million things to get done before the rehearsal.  But first off, I think we'd better go get the dress, so we know if we have to go out and try to buy a new one."

"I'm sure Shelly will do a wonderful job," Robert said firmly.

Anne said, "We need to call Lily.  I'm surprised she's not here."

"She – was up quite late last night, I believe," McCall answered.  "I'll give her a call."

 ***

Scott put both hands on the wheel, ten o-clock and two o-clock, just like in driver's ed – or NASCAR.  The morning rush was tapering off as they reached the city, and the Mercedes seemed to fly all on its own through what traffic remained.  He was beginning to see why all his father's associates drove the way they did.  "Don't tell Dad," he said, "but I almost like this car better than the Jag."

"He'd be crushed to hear it," Becky laughed.  "Just don't get too attached.  I get the feeling this car is Lily's baby.  I can’t believe she let you drive it at all."

He considered, shrugged.  Lily might love the car, but in a crisis – like the one they'd had the night before – she seemed to like him more.  "Did I tell you she never slept with my dad?"

"Who?"

"Lily."

"Never?"

"So he says."

Becky frowned.  "Then why's she doing all this for us?"

"I don't know.  She likes us, I guess."

"I knew that, but … huh."

"Yeah."  He switched lanes again.  "Lily and Control.  I'm officially freaked out."

"You know you can't tell anybody."

"I know.  It's just … actually, it explains a lot.  Like Lily and my mom."

"What?"

"Mom hates Control."

Becky sat up.  "Why?"

"She blames him for taking my dad away from us.  And because Dad will tell him things he'd never tell her.  She's jealous of him.  Not in a gay way, but like … Control's my dad's best friend, and I think Mom thinks that should have been her, instead."

"But he knew Control way before he met Kay, didn't he?"

Scott shrugged.  "I didn't say it made any sense."

"Does it go both ways?  Does Control hate her?"

"Not hates her, I don't think" he answered, after a bit of thought.  "I don't think he puts that much energy into it.  Mostly he's always ignored her.  Like she just wasn't important."

"Which must make her hate him even worse."  Becky shook her head.  "If she ever finds out about him and Lily …"

"She'll take out a full-page ad in the New York Times, knowing her," Scott answered.  "I think we're better off with her thinking Lily's banging Dad."

"It's all so tangled up." She put her hand on Scott's shoulder.  "We're lucky, you know.  I mean, even as bad as this has been, and even with Kay being so – Kay, we're lucky.  We don't have to hide that we love each other.  We can get all dressed up and tell the whole world about it."

Scott nodded, leaned to kiss her fingertips.  "Thirty-six hours."

"Hmm?"

"Thirty-six hours from now – less than that  – we'll be married."

Becky smiled, more relaxed than she'd been for weeks.  "I can't wait."

 ***

About the time Scott recognized the day's first logistical snag, the phone rang.  He looked around, confused, but Becky popped open the center console and picked it up.  "Hello?"

"Did he wreck my car yet?" Lily said cheerfully.

"Not yet," Becky assured her.  "We're almost home."

"Good.  Stop by my place and I'll run him up to get the Beetle."

"You're not at Robert's?"

"Not yet.  I just got out of the shower."

Becky hesitated, then giggled.  "Are you naked?"  The look Scott shot her made her laugh out loud.

Lily said, primly, "Well, I won't be by the time you get here."

 ***

She wasn't, but her hair was still damp.  They swapped cars and dispatched Scott – and his dress shoes – to Madam Olga's and rehearsal. 

He hesitated.  "Lily?  Thank you.  For yesterday.  For everything."

She considered him seriously.  "You want to thank me, Scott?  Keep your mouth shut."

"About …"

"Yes."

"You know I will."  He gathered Becky to his side.  "We both will."

"I know," Lily said.  "But understand how serious this is.  The wrong word, the wrong look – they'll kill him."

"And you," Becky added.

The agent considered.  "I suppose."

"We'll keep your secret," Scott promised. 

"And no matter what," Lily warned firmly, "you have to be at the church at seven for rehearsal."

"Yes, ma'am," he responded crisply.

"That's what I like to hear."

 ***

"Oh, God, I don't want to do this," Becky said.

"This what?" Lily asked. 

"See Kay again.  I feel like such an idiot after yesterday.  And you know how she is, she won’t let me forget it."

"What's our motto concerning Kay?" Lily said briskly.

Becky thought back.  "Fuck her?"

"Exactly.  Next time say it with a little more conviction."

Becky nodded solemnly and checked her watch.  "Thirty-one hours."

 ***

Kay opened the apartment door for them, wrapped the badly startled bride in her arms, and said quietly, "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.  I wish someone had told me, I wouldn't have been such a shrew about the family thing."

"It's okay," Becky murmured.

"No, it's not.  But it doesn't matter now.  Now you'll just be my girl."

Becky burst into tears, and Kay cried with her.

 ***

Scott took a deep bracing breath and let himself in the front door of the shop.  "Hey, Heath."

The man flounced to his feet.  Then he noted that the young man was alone, and his manner changed dramatically – for the mundane.  "Just you?"

"Just me."

Heath jerked his head towards the stairs.  "Mum's ready for you.  The tux looks good."

"Good.  Thanks."  Scott started for the stairs, then stopped.  "Can I ask you something?"

The man had settled behind the counter again with a copy of 'Sports Illustrated'.  He looked up.  "How do I live with her?"

"No.  I'm sure that would take way more explanation than I have time for."  Scott approached the counter.  "You don't have to tell me, but I'm curious.  What did my dad help you with?"

Heath considered him for a long moment.  "You can keep a secret?"

"Of course.  And if you'd rather not tell me …"

"No, it's okay.  Just between us, though.  He got some pictures back for me."

"Oh."  Scott had known that much.  Suddenly he wished he hadn't asked.  The idea that there were pictures so obscene they embarrassed Heath was too much to imagine.  And he could imagine quite a bit.  "Okay."

The man bent down and opened a safe under the counter.   When he stood, he had a fat battered envelope.  "These," he said, sliding it across the counter.

Scott quailed.  "Ah, no, that's okay."

"Go ahead.  They're not what you think."

"I … no, really, it's …" Heath gave him a look.  Reluctantly, Scott picked up the envelope and opened it.

The pictures were unexpected, to say the least.

There was a woman in them, for one thing.  She was fully dressed, pretty.  She had a baby in her arms, and Heath was standing beside them, with his arm around her, smiling.  Scott flipped to the next picture, and the next.  They were all of this little group, playing in the yard with a dog, Heath asleep on the couch with the baby on his chest, the three of them on a picnic blanket.  When he got to the last picture, Scott put them away carefully.  "Your family?" he asked.

"Yep."

"I don't get it."

Heath sighed.  "Scotty boy, look around you.  I get three hundred bucks for a tie here, sometimes more.  I dress the most fashionable people in this city.  I give them premium fashion advice.  I make them look marvelous.  And I charge them an arm and a leg for it."

"Okay."

"Nobody would pay me that kind of money if they knew I was straight. Straight men have no fashion sense."

Slowly, Scott grinned.  "So my dad got these pictures back …"

"And saved my business.  I'd have been ruined if those ever got out."

"Oh. I – I'm – I'm glad he could help you."

"Me, too."  Heath put the pictures carefully back in the safe.  "Prejudice cuts both ways, Scott.  Don't ever forget that."

"I won't.  Thank you for telling me."

From above, Madam Olga began to pound on the floor.  

 ***

"Oh," Kay breathed.

"It's beautiful," Becky agreed.

They stared at the newly-beaded wedding dress, spread on a clean white sheet on the couch, in amazement.  "I can't believe you got it done this quickly," Kay said.  "It's wonderful."

Shelly shrugged modestly. "It wasn't all that hard."

Anne snapped a quick picture, not of the dress, but of the seamstress's rough and bandaged fingers.  It would be weeks before she could pick up a bead again.

"I told you she was brilliant," Lily said, shifting the clinging Emily to her other hip. 

"Well, yes, but …"

"Is she gonna try it on?" Emily demanded.

"We want to see it," Sophie added.

Becky shook her head.  "I'm afraid to touch it.  I don't want to get it dirty or anything."

"You really should try it on," Shelly said.  "In case we need to make any little adjustments or if I missed a spot."

"I can take some pictures," Anne urged.

Yvette added, "And I need to know about trains and such I have to deal with.  And besides, I'm dying to see you in it."

Becky sighed, outnumbered, and followed Shelly and the dress into the next room.

She emerged to applause.

"She looks like a princess," Emily whispered.

Anne circled, taking pictures of the bride and also of the gathered company.  Official wedding photographer status not withstanding, she still found people's faces much more interesting than clothes.

Becky blushed wildly.  "I don't even look like me," she said.

"You look like Princess Becky," Sophie said logically.  "Mama, can I have a dress like that when I get married?"

Shelly looked ruefully at her battered fingers.  "Of course you can, sweetie.  But I'd better start now."

"Oh," Kay said.  "How did you make it glow like that?  It looks almost luminous."

"I used little smaller beads, and more of them," the seamstress said.  "I like the way they reflect light.  Oh, and I interspersed some crystals with the pearls.  I hope you don't mind."

"Mind?  How could I mind?  It looks wonderful.  I can't thank you enough."

"I was glad to be able to help.  And Lily's spoiled the girls rotten while I did it."

"Yeah," Elizabeth said.  "We want you to do more dresses."

"I'm sure you do," her mother laughed.

"Well," Kay offered, "I'd certainly recommend you."

"Maybe you can use some of the pictures in a brochure," Anne offered.  "We'll see what comes out best."

"That would be wonderful," Shelly answered.  "I've never done anything like this before."

"Don't tell Kay that," Lily teased lightly.  "I told her you did things like this all the time."

Kay laughed.  "And I believed you."

"Mama," Emily said, "can we go to the wedding?"

"Uh …"

"Of course you can," Kay answered.  "Unless your parents have other plans."

"No, but …"

"Good.  I'll make sure you get an extra-big piece of cake. You won't believe how good it is."

Emily beamed at her.  Then she scrambled down from Lily's arms.  "I gotta go pick what to wear," she announced.  She trotted off, and the other girls followed eagerly.

A moment later, from down the hall, one of them called, "Mama, can I wear my tap shoes?"

 ***

"Whatcha need, McCall?"

Robert looked past Clarence at the limousine he was diligently shining.  "There's been a minor change of plan."

Clarence looked at him narrowly.  "What change?"

"I still need you," McCall said.  "But we won't need your car."

"We gonna try to stuff the bride and groom into that high-priced kitty of yours?"

Robert shook his head.  "No, no."  He produced an envelope, which contained car keys and very specific instructions.  "We'll be using something a bit more … classic."

Clarence glanced into the envelopes, then paused to read the top of the instructions more carefully.  He grinned.  "Well, well.  I think I can handle it."

"I'm sure that you can.  But I advise you," Robert said sternly, "to handle it very, very carefully.  Because the man who owns these cars is one of the most dangerous men you ever hope not to meet.  And if you put so much as a scratch on one of them, believe you me, you will meet him."

Clarence raised an unimpressed eyebrow.  "He more dangerous than you, McCall?"

Robert considered.  "He is at least _as_ dangerous.  So be careful."

"See you tomorrow, McCall."

"Tomorrow, Clarence."

 ***  

"List review?" Yvette suggested, when they were back on the road, the dress safely wrapped and loosely packed in the trunk.

"We need our white boards," Kay countered.

"I made a portable copy."  Yvette reached under the seat and brought out a clipboard.  "I thought we might be short on time."

"I knew I was going to like you," Lily said.

"Good planning," Kay agreed.

Yvette shrugged.  "I figured it was in the job description, to help keep things organized."

They reviewed the items on the checklist, and they made calls from Lily's car phone. The church was ready, and expecting them for the rehearsal at seven.  Pete O'Phelan was expecting them around nine for a late rehearsal dinner.  The hotel was ready, but needed another payment.  The florist was ready, and would take final payment whenever it was convenient.  The cake ladies were ready, and had coordinated with the hotel; they also needed final payment.  The swing band was already set up.  Scott's band for later could not be reached, which was a surprise to no one.  Nick's church ladies had completed an insane amount of pastry, and they could send a check back with Father Nick after the rehearsal. Nick, in a separate call, announced that he was ready to run the rehearsal. 

Kay said, "I'd like to go to the hotel and look things over.  Can you take checks around, Lily?  I suppose we could send Robert."

Lily shook her head.  "I have to go meet with the Secret Service.  I said I'd help them with the walk-through."

"The what?"

"The Secret Service.  They're walking through the church this afternoon."

"We're having Secret Service at the wedding?" Yvette asked. "For my godfather?"

"Who's your godfather?" Kay asked again.

"No," Lily said.  "I got a guest speaker for the church on Sunday."

"Who'd you get?" Becky asked.

"I'm not allowed to say.  Security.  Surprise guest.  But he's going to talk about Habitat for Humanity."

Becky's mouth fell open.  "You're kidding."

"How'd you get _him_?" Anne demanded.

Lily grinned.  "It's not who you know, it's that you know about them."

Kay said, "I thought he was supposed to be squeaky-clean."

"He is.  As far as I know.  All I had to know was that he'd be in the city this weekend, and his wife's assistant's phone number. Oh, and that he's a sucker for romance."

"Wow."

"Hey, when I say I'll get somebody good to speak, I don't usually screw around."

"Wow," Becky said again.

"And after that," Lily said lightly, "I have to go to the office for a while."

"I can deliver checks," Anne volunteered.  "Yvette can come with me if she wants.  I'll show her around town a little more."

"That'd be great," Yvette agreed.  Despite – or maybe because of – the man between them, the two young women had forged a quick friendship.  "Unless Becky needs me for anything."

Becky shook her head.  "Unless there's something else, I have to pack.  Oh, damn, I forgot to ask Robert about borrowing luggage."

Lily tsk'ed quietly.  "C'mon, Becky.  How long you been planning with this group?  It's all taken care of."

"It is?"

"It is."

"Oh." 

"Okay."  Lily glanced at her watch.  "I'll drop you two and the dress at Robert's, Kay at the hotel, and Becky at home.  And we'll all meet at the church at sixteen-fifteen?"

"Would that be," Yvette asked carefully, "like quarter after four?"

"It would, dear, yes."  Lily shook her head.  "Civilians!"

 ***

Becky entered her apartment wearily.  She and Scott had sat up most of the night, talking things through.  They hadn't actually changed anything, but it had felt damn good just to say some of the things out loud – and to hear him say things that she'd known he felt but never heard.  But it had been like a marathon therapy session.  She was exhausted, mentally and physically. 

And she still had to pack.

The pile of presents was growing.  They hadn't opened any of them. 

Twenty-seven hours until the wedding.  There would be time Sunday morning to finish packing, and to open gifts, but not much, and she expected to be even more exhausted by then.  Sunday night they flew out to Paris, and then Tuesday the tour began.

Despite all the brave talk about adventures, Becky was not at all sure she was up to the next two days.

There was a heap in the center of the living room, covered with the fuzzy white throw. 

Becky stopped and stared at it. 

She knew, of course, that Lily could break into the apartment easily enough.  She'd done so the day of Scott's audition.  And if Lily could do it, then certainly Mickey could, or Robert, or Control, or half a dozen other people she could name.  It didn't bother her much.  At least none of them would steal the stereo.

The heap under the throw did not seem menacing.  For one thing, it was much too big to be a body. But she skirted around it anyhow, went to the kitchen and got a glass of iced tea, kicked her shoes off and changed into her scruffiest, most comfortable jeans.  Then suitably braced, she went and peeled back the cover.   

There were two sets of suitcases, one huge and one medium-huge each, one set forest green and the other scarlet.  And there were two heavy-duty backpacks, also forest and scarlet, apparently packed full. 

There were cards.  One set of luggage was from Mickey and Anne, the other from Yvette.  The backpacks were from Lily, and they were stuffed with every imaginable travel toiletry and road snack. 

There was a fourth card, attached to a fat folder.  The card was plain white, heavy, and inside, in a distinctively crisp hand, was the message, "May this and all your journeys together be joyous."  It was signed only, 'C'.  Inside the folder were maps of every city on the tour.  Each map had a destination circled, and clipped to it a voucher for dinner for two at the destination restaurant. 

He was sending them to most of the great restaurants on the Continent.

Entirely overwhelmed, Becky sat down on the living room floor and wept.

 ***

"I, ah, I have to warn you," Nick said, "I'm in pretty unfamiliar territory here."

"In a Protestant church?" Kay asked.

"Well, that, too.  What I meant was, I'm not used to having everybody show up at rehearsal on time." 

"Hey, this is a Company event," Mickey answered.  "We do everything according to the schedule."

"Yeah," Lily agreed, "until we don't."

Nick nodded.  "I see, I see.  Well, let's get started."  He raised his voice just a bit, projected it professionally throughout the small sanctuary.  "If everyone could gather here just for a moment, we'll get started.  And then we'll get dinner."

The small company gathered around him.  Besides the wedding party and the parents, there was Lily, Anne, over-armed with cameras, the organist, a small plump man who was known only as Robby, and Heather, a church elder and designated organizer.   

"Before we start," Nick said to the little group, "I'm going to annoy my brother and ask that we have a quick non-denominational prayer."

Mickey smirked, but he didn't retort, just folded his hands dutifully in front of him and bowed his head. 

"Holy Father," Nick prayed clearly, "we ask Your blessing on all those gathered here, and on all who will gather here tomorrow to celebrate this joyous event.  We especially ask Your blessings on Scott and Becky as they begin their new life together.  And we ask not that nothing will go wrong tomorrow, because only You are perfect, but we ask that whatever does go wrong we address with grace and with a sense of humor.  Amen."

"Amen," the company answered in unison.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Nick smiled.  Then, briskly, he said, "All right.  From the top.  Scott, you know where you're to wait?"

"I think so."

"Take your father, go find it for sure, find the entrance, come right back.  Becky, same question."

"I know where."

"Good.  Take your bridesmaid and show her.  Find all the entrances, see what you need to bring with you, come right back."  As they left, he turned to the organist.  "You have prelude music?"

"I do," Robby said quickly.  Then he laughed.  "I mean, yes.  It's all set."

"Good."  Nick turned to Heather.  "Candles will be lit, all of that?"

"It'll be taken care of," she assured him.  "I'll be here from the early wedding, I'll take care of it.  And I'll have programs here, at the door."

"Excellent."  To Mickey, "You get to seat everybody.  We may need to draft somebody to help if you get backed up."

"I can handle it, Nick."

"I know.  But if it rains, you don't want people waiting out on the steps.  And the women will be in heels, you can't just go booking down the aisle dragging them along.  Right?"

Mickey smirked again.  "Yes, mother."

Nick looked around.  "Annie, I need you to …" She was busily shooting pictures.  "Never mind.  Lily, I need to borrow you."  He turned her shoulders towards the front of the church.  "Okay, Mickey, you greet them here, decide where they're going.  Bride's on the left, groom's on the right."

"What if they're both?" Mickey asked, annoyed.

"Put them on whatever side is least full."

"That'll be the bride's side," Kay said.  And then, realizing how it sounded, she added, "Becky doesn't have family coming.  Put the friends on that side."

"Yes, good.  Now, you take the oldest lady in any group on your right arm.  Let the men and the younger women follow you.  Walk them all the way to the front-most empty pew; leave the very front pews empty."  Nick took Lily's hand and threaded it through his brother's arm.  "Remember to go slow.  This is a wedding, not a race."    

Mickey shook his head.   "So I can't go like this?"  He swept Lily up and tossed her, screaming with laughter, over his shoulder.  Then he ran to the front of the church and dumped her in the front pew.

Nick looked after him.  "I said to leave the front pew empty," he said calmly.

"Oh, right.  Sorry."  He helped Lily up, tucked her arm through his, and walked her sedately back to the back of the church.  "Sorry.  Had to get that out of my system."

Lily said, "Wheee!"

Scott and Robert returned.  "What'd I miss?" Scott asked.

"My brother's pirate impersonation."  Nick consulted his program and notes.  "All right.  Once everyone is mostly seated, we have the parents of the bride and groom come from the back with candles and light the individual unity candles on the sides of the altar."  He hesitated.  "And the bride has no family here.  Hmm."

Becky and Yvette rejoined the gathering. 

"I'll light Becky's candle," Kay said firmly. 

Nick nodded his approval.  "Good."  He walked them through the simple procedure, then turned to Robby.  "Is there special music for this?"

"The girl.  Heat.  She's going to sing."

Nick blinked at him.  "Heat?"

"Beverly Heat.  The pop star, you know?"

"Uh … no.  Have you rehearsed with her?"

"Her mother's going to play piano for her."

"Wait," Scott said.  "You aren't serious."

Robby looked at him curiously.  "That's what your father said."

Scott spun around to Robert.  "You aren't serious," he repeated.  "Tell me you're not serious."

"I told you about this, Scott," Robert said.  "You didn't raise any objection."

"I thought you were _kidding_!  Beverly Heat's going to sing at _my_ wedding?  Dad, there are going to be serious musicians here.  She can't …"

"I can't very well cancel now," Robert said calmly.  "She's very earnest about wanting to do this.  Besides, it's only one song."

"Dad …" Scott looked to his mother.  "You knew about this?"

Kay shrugged.  "Yes.  He said he told you.  I think it's very nice of her to offer."

He ran his hand through his hair, shook his head. "Okay, fine, whatever.  This wedding is completely out of control anyhow, what difference does it make?"

Nick nodded.  "Okay.  Good.  I think."  He looked around as Becky and Yvette returned from the bride room.  "All right.  So the candles are lit.  Robert seats Kay and comes back to fetch the bride.  Mickey will seat any late-comers and then you'll go out the side door there and chase Scott down."

They went on, step by step.  Nick knew he was being more thorough than he needed to be, but he also knew that the devil was in the details.  The unity candle had been one, potentially.  The more they covered, the better their chances of the wedding going off without a hitch.  As it were. 

He got them up to the altar and through the vows, roughly covered, before the first problem appeared.  "Then you each take your ring from your attendant …"

Scott said, "Shit!" 

"Excuse me?" Nick said, surprised.

"Sorry.  Sorry, Father Nick, but I …damn.  Sorry."

Lily rose from the pew where she'd been observing.  "He forgot to pick up the rings," she explained.

Scott closed his eyes.  "I forgot to pick up the rings."

"I didn't," the young woman said sweetly.  She brought the jeweler's box from her purse and popped it open.  "These?"

The groom sighed deeply.  "I could kiss you."

"Yes, please."  She stood on her toes and offered her cheek, which Scott kissed sweetly.  Then she snapped the box shut and handed it to Robert.  "Keep those."

"I shall," he agreed, tucking them into his jacket.

Nick took a deep breath.  "Moving on."

They moved on, through the rest of the service, through the recessional, and gathered again at the back of the church.  "Receiving line?" Nick asked.

"No," Robert said. 

"I really think we should," Kay countered.  "In case some people aren't coming to the reception."

He looked at her and sighed.  Then he shrugged.  "Receiving line."

Nick lined them up.  "Try to keep it short and sweet.  Keep things moving." 

"We'll have maps to the reception at the back of the church," Heather offered, "in case anyone needs them."

Anne offered, "We'll need the wedding party and the parents to stay, so we can take church pictures.  I promise I'll be as quick as I can."     

"And that's it," Nick pronounced.  "Any questions?"

Scott said, very quietly, "Can I borrow fifteen bucks?"

 ***

Robert walked to the bar, quietly tapping his hand with the sign he'd taken down from the window.  "Pete O'Phelan.  I thought we had an agreement about this."  He turned the sign.  It read, 'Closed for Private Party.'

"No, I don't think we did," she answered, unimpressed by his displeasure.  "I believe you said, just the big table up top, and that's what I've got for you."  She gestured.  By the empty fireplace on the upper level, the tables had been put together, draped with white and laid with crystal. 

He looked around the otherwise empty bar.  The place should have been packed on a Friday night.  "Pete." 

"Robert."  She came around the bar, took the sign from him, and put it back in the window.

McCall sighed.  Mickey and Anne arrived, with Kay and Walter on their heels.   There was no point in arguing.  He wouldn't win.

Pete put a Scotch on the rocks in his hand.  "Go.  Enjoy."

 ***

She'd closed the restaurant, but kept the wait staff.  Robert did no more than think in the direction of his empty glass and there was a full one in his hand. 

"You know," Kay sighed, "this place really is quite lovely when it's dressed up like this.  I suppose we really could have had the reception here."

McCall clenched his fists to keep from slapping himself in the forehead.

 ***

The woman of middle years hesitated in the doorway.  A waiter said, "I'm sorry, ma'am, private party tonight."

"No," Pete said quickly, rounding the bar.  "She's a guest.  Mira, come in, come in.   They're all up in the back."  She turned and called, "Robert?"

"Thank you," Mira said.  "I think."

"Ah, Kay's not too bad tonight," Pete assured her quietly, "so far."

"That makes me feel _so_ much better."

Robert strode to the front of the restaurant.  "There you are," he said warmly, putting his arm around Mira and kissing her lightly.  "I thought you were going to back out on me."

"I gave it considerable consideration."

Robert smiled tightly.  "I don't blame you a bit.  Come on, I'll introduce you to the Inquisition."

Mira forced a smile of her own.  "I so look forward to it."   

 ***

Lily, Scott noted with some concern, spent as much time on the phone in the little hallway to the restrooms as she did at the table.  "Problems?" he asked as she came back again.

She shook her head.  "Planning my next event."

"You haven't even gotten this one over with yet."

"That's me, always planning ahead."

Kostmayer said, "Did you get my tickets yet?"

Lily smirked.  "Ticket, Mickey.  Singular.  I'll bring it tomorrow."

"Thanks loads."

"Where's he going?" Scott asked innocently.

The woman hesitated, then said, with finality, "Europe."

 ***

The waiters had started bringing out trays of appetizers. "We might as well get this over with," Robert said. 

"Said the man to the firing squad," Mira quipped back.  She climbed the three steps at his side, crowding him just a bit. 

"Kay," Robert said to his ex.  As she turned, he continued, "Kay, Walter Wesley, this is Mira Kalinich.  Mira, Kay, Walt."

There was polite hand-shaking, and the undeniable pause as the two women sized each other up.  Then Kay said, "It's nice to finally meet you."

"You, too.  I offered to help with the wedding, but honestly, organization is just not my thing."

"Mira subscribes to a chaotic philosophy of life," Robert agreed.

Walter said, "Would you like a shrimp?"

Kay looked back and said, "Becky, don't eat the broccoli, dear.  It might give you gas, and no one wants a gassy bride."

Mira smiled sympathetically at the girl.  Becky obediently dropped the green snack to her plate, but as soon as Kay looked away, she picked it up and ate it.

Robert led her away and introduced her to the others.  She knew all of them by name, none by face.  Mickey the ever-helpful friend of questionable sanity, and Anne his obviously Irish-blooded lover.  Nick, the priest, Mickey's unlikely brother, and yet to see them together for a minute was to know they were undeniably kin.  Yvette, the lovely grown daughter Robert had found so late.  Scott and Becky she knew; they looked tired, frazzled.  She looked hopefully for others – she had hoped that the mysterious Control would appear – but he was not to be found.

As Pete steered them towards the table, though, the other missing person – a lovely little blond in a tight white shirt – came out of the back hall.  "Hi."

"Hello," Mira said easily.  "I'm Mira Kalinich."

The girl took her hand and shook it firmly.  "Lily Romanov.  I knew this wedding was epic, I had no idea it had become historic."

Mira smiled broadly.  "Oh, bless your heart, you read."

"Compulsively."

"But I'm not really here in a historian role.  I'm Robert's … guest."

"I know," Lily said.   "And to get it out of the way, I'm not, and never have been."

"No matter what anybody says," Mira confirmed.  "So I've been told."

"A bad reputation is a hell of a thing."

"I know.  I wish I knew where I could get one."

Lily laughed.  "Keep hanging with this crowd, and believe me, it'll take care of itself."

 ***

"Are you doing all right?" Yvette asked quietly.

Becky nodded.  "I'm just sorta … numb.  Like it's all going too fast.  This time tomorrow …"

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No.  I'll be glad to have it over with."  She put her hand to her mouth.  "That was a terrible thing to say."

Yvette laughed.  "Don't worry about it.  I understand completely.  If I was in your place, my head would have exploded a week ago.  You want me to go sneak you some more broccoli?"

"I'm so glad you're here."

 ***

"Hey, Scott," Mickey said, "after dinner, you wanna go out for a drink?"

"Kostmayer," Robert said sternly.

"Just a drink," Mickey promised innocently.  "And maybe a couple strippers.  But you know, nice ones, high-class stuff, nothing sleazy.  You can come along if you want.  We'll take Walt, too."

Robert made a face.  "I think I'd better wait by the phone with bail money."

"That works, too."

Scott said, "I dunno …"

"We didn't have time for a bachelor party thing," Mickey said.  "But they're not going to let you go home tonight anyhow, I figured we might as well go get a beer."

The groom said, "They're not what?"

 ***

"We talked about this," Becky said.  "We're not supposed to see each other tomorrow before the wedding.  So you're staying at Robert's tonight."

"We never talked about this.  And who says?"

She gave a small nod towards Kay.  "We talked about it.  On the way back from rehearsal that day I went to interview."

"From tech rehearsal?"

"Yes."

Scott blinked.  "I don't even remember driving home that day. Damn, is there anything else about this wedding that I missed?"

"I'm sorry.  We could just tell them …"

He looked towards his mother.  She was in intense conversation with Yvette; his half-sister was trying to look interested and instead looked uncomfortable.  Kay was coming around, slowly, but any attempt to change plans now was likely to be met with fierce resistance.  "No.  But it seems stupid." 

"If we keep you separate," Lily supplied logically, in passing, "you can't go running off together."

"But … but … then you'll be home alone."

Becky shrugged uneasily.  "I'll be okay."

"No."  Scott shook his head.  "Yvette?"  Two birds with one stone, he thought.  "I'm sorry to interrupt, but can we talk to you for a minute?"

Yvette did not seem very sorry to have her conversation with Kay interrupted.

 ***

Pete had evidently kept most of the kitchen staff on the clock as well.  The food was hot, fast, and abundant.

Just after their hostess invited them to consider the dessert menu, Yvette said brightly, "Godfather!"

Kay looked up.  Control was striding towards the back of the restaurant.  " _He's_ your godfather?" in a voice that carried over the chatter.

"Hello, Kay," he said negligently.  He gathered Yvette in a warm embrace.  "Hello, Yvette."

"You're late."

"Sorry.  The world is not cooperating with my schedule."

"Are you hungry?  We were just ordering dessert, but I'm sure Pete could …"

"I've eaten," Control assured her.  He patted her hand.  "Be right back."  He walked to where Scott and Becky sat, and leaned to kiss the bride.  "How are you?"

"Better," she said, her voice suddenly shaky.  "Thank you.  For everything."

He smiled fondly at her.  "I'm glad."  He squeezed Scott's shoulder in passing, then went behind them to Robert.  "McCall.  You've finally decided to bring her out in public."

"Against my better judgment," Robert said.  "Mira Kalinich, this is Control.  Don't believe a word he says."

"Charming as always, old son."  Control took her hand and bowed over it formally.  "I'm very glad to meet you at last."  His blue eyes twinkled at her.

Mira took a deep breath.  "I've heard a great deal about you."

"All damnable lies, I assure you."

Only half in jest, Robert took her hand back from his friend.  "All right, all right.  Go on, you can have some dessert."

Grinning, Control continued his circuit of the table and arrived back at Yvette's side just as Lily came out of the hallway with a heavily-laden plate for him.  He barely nodded at her as he sat down to it.  "Thank you."

"I thought you said you already ate," Yvette said.

"He was lying," Lily answered lightly. 

"You can tell?"

"If his mouth is moving.  It's a dead give-away."

"I can send you to Siberia for that kind of impudence," Control warned darkly. 

Lily smiled brightly.  "I have friends in Siberia.  They'll keep me warm."  The phone in the hallway rang and she flounced away.

Control shook his head and fell to the food.

 ***

After desserts and coffees had been distributed, Scott stood up, and Becky with him.  "I, uh, I have to make sort of a, a speech," he said.   There was general good-natured groaning from the table.   "I'll keep it short," he promised, which brought a smattering of applause.  "Man, I'm surrounded by smart asses."

"This is news to you?" Mickey asked.

"We just really wanted to say th-thank you," Becky said.  "Damn, I hope I don't do that tomorrow."

"If you do," Nick advised, "try not to say 'damn'."

Becky laughed.  "I'll try."

"We have so many people to thank, for so many things," Scott continued.  "This whole thing has been so much more work and planning than we ever imagined, and I can't begin to … and we have some little gifts that I don't, we don't really think are at all adequate, but they're just tokens, really, of how much we appreciate all of you.  So, thank you."

They'd already given Yvette her city guides, and added only her own keys to the apartment and the Beetle, in a gift box.  For Mickey they had a very compact but surprisingly well-stocked first aid kit, a bottle of painfully expensive Scotch, and a stainless steel flask engraved with the word 'Duck!'   For Robert, the man who annoyingly bought everything he really wanted all on his own, they had scored the impossible Broadway tickets for that fall, three shows.  For Kay, a lush robe and satin slippers, scented candles and bubble bath, a trashy novel, and a bottle of sweet vermouth.  "After tomorrow," Scott said, "go home and _relax_.  You deserve it."

As the dinner wrapped up, they found Lily in the back hall and gave her her gift.  "I don't know what this means," Scott said apologetically, "but Becky says you need it."

"Then I probably do, or will," Lily said.  "But you didn't have to …"

"We did," Becky insisted.  "This couldn't have happened without you.  And I would have got you this anyhow.  It's important."

Lily opened the little package and considered the strings inside.  "I don't play violin," she said, puzzled. 

"They're for a cello," Scott corrected gently.  "And they're not for you."

She looked between them.  Then she nodded.  "I'll put them in my bag," she said.  "Thank you."

 ***

And Robert, before he left, found the two of them.  "A little gift," he said.  "For each of you."

"Dad," Scott protested, "you already paid for most of this wedding.  You didn't have to get us anything."

"Scott," McCall answered, "hush.  Money is not important.  Happiness is."

Becky opened hers first.  There was a set of perfect emerald stud earrings.  "You said you liked green," Robert explained.  "They will go with your dress, I think, rather nicely …" He stopped then because she was in his arms. 

Puzzled, Scott opened his own box.  Within lay cufflinks, also set with emeralds.  "Thank you," he said.  "Thank you for everything.  I can't …" He choked on the words.  "Thank you isn't enough."      

Robert smiled, his own eyes damp, and gathered his son into the embrace as well.  "Be happy, children.  Just be happy.

 ***

They parted at the front door, and it felt like they were parting forever.  "You can call me," Scott said.  "I don't think there's any rule about that."

"There probably is," Becky answered.  "I'll be fine.  The girls are coming over, and Yvette's going to stay the night.  Don't let Mickey get you into any trouble."

Scott rolled his eyes.  "What trouble could I _possibly_ get into with Mickey Kostmayer?"

"This time tomorrow …" Becky began.

"I know."  He hesitated.  "I still got that fifteen bucks.  We could make a run for it."

Becky looked up and down the street.  McCall was by his car, three spaces up; Mickey was by his van, a block down.  "We won't make it."

"We could try."

She smiled.  "I love you, Scott."

"I love you, Becky.  And this time tomorrow …"

"This time tomorrow," she agreed.

 ***

Control waved his car down at the corner, saving them the time of circling the block again.  He usually drove his own car for personal errands like this, but tonight he had neither the time nor the patience for New York traffic. 

"Back to the office, sir?" the driver asked.

Control nodded wearily.  "Back to the office."  He didn't even know this one's name.  It didn't matter; Simms would have screened him thoroughly. 

He sat back, closed his eyes.  At least he'd been well-fed.  Bless Lily and her prescience, despite her smart little mouth.  You can tell he's lying when his mouth is moving.  Imp.  He could think of half a dozen ways to make her pay for that impudence …

He grinned, half-asleep, and made himself snap out of it.  That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about tonight.

Still, it had been oddly comforting, to have her there with his other friends, to have what he would have called his family together at one table, Robert and Yvette and …

Control's eyes snapped open.

God almighty, Yvette and Lily were the same age.

He frowned fiercely, doing the math.  Tricky, because Lily had lied about her ago, way back when.   They were within a year, and Yvette might be older.  His goddaughter, who he still considered a child, and his lover. 

Robert was right.  He was screwing a child.

And what would Manon say if she could see him now?  He could hear the cruel disdain in her voice.  'Good Lord, if you wanted one that young you should have just started with Yvette!'

Except that Manon would not have said that.  Manon would have held her tongue until she got to know Lily, and then she would have said, 'This one is not a child, and this one makes you happy.  Stop counting years, silly one.' 

He nodded, breathing again.  Something like that, yes.  She was not one to jump to conclusions.  And, as Yvette had pointed out, they were in some ways very much alike. 

Manon would have liked Lily.  Or at least, with Manon gone, he could content himself to think so.

He wondered what Yvette would say if she knew.  She liked Lily, too.  She'd said so.  But liking someone as a contemporary, and finding out that your respected godfather was carrying on with her, were two different matters.

But she was her mother's daughter, Yvette was, and perhaps she would have come to the same conclusion.

In any case, she would never know.  Too many people knew already. 

He closed his eyes again.  Since Yvette could never know, he could pretend that she'd be happy for him, too.

 ***

"Well," Robert said, when they were safely alone in the Jaguar, "so now you've met them."

Mira sat back.  "They seem like very nice people."

McCall frowned at her.  "You're not serious."

"Well, your daughter is very lovely."

"Yes," Robert agreed.  "Yvette is lovely young woman.  And you'll get to see more of her, I'm sure."

"Kay seems very … stressed."

"She was actually better tonight.  You should have seen her last week." 

"Does her husband ever speak?"

"Walter?"  Robert considered.  "Only when spoken to, as far as I can tell."

"They must get along wonderfully."

He nodded thoughtfully.  "Yes."

"Mr. Kostmayer," Mira continued, "is exactly as you described him.  A very pleasant man that I would never want to be on the wrong side of.  Oh, and Lily had a wonderful suggestion for the Gettysburg book for children.  She thinks I ought to get Anne to do the photographs for it."

"Ah."

"Anne seemed quite receptive to the idea, although she's a bit booked for the next few months.  Which works, too, because I've barely begun to research topics which might be interesting to the little brats."

"You have such a charming assessment of your readers," Robert chided gently.

"A realistic assessment," Mira countered. 

"And what do you make of Control?"

"Oh, him.  Those eyes.  If I wasn't seeing you, I'd try to make him an entrée."

Robert chuckled.  "You could be a bit less honest, my dear."

"I could, but why?  You must know by now the effect he has on women."

"Some women," Robert allowed.  "He's never done a thing for Kay."

Mira laughed out loud.  "You are kidding, right?"

"She can't stand him."

"She may not like him personally," Mira informed him, "but she'd jump him in a hot second if she didn't have to talk to him afterwards."

Robert shot her a startled glance.  "Kay?  And _Control_?  You're mad."

"Oh, he has no interest," Mira said.  "And she wishes she didn't.  But there's definitely a physical thing there."

"You're imagining things."

"Female intuition."

He shook his head.  "Impossible."

"In all the time you've known each other, you've never had a woman interested in both of you?"

_Manon_ , he thought instantly.  He shook his head again.  "No.  Never.  Our interest in women is – too dissimilar."

Mira shook her head.  "You're getting out of practice, Robert.  You used to be a much better liar."

 ***

"That all went very well," Walter said at the hotel.

Kay shook her head.  "I should have known that Control was her godfather."

"Who?"

"Yvette."

Walt looked at her blankly.  "Well, he is Robert's best friend."

"Yes, but Robert didn't even know …" Kay threw her hands up.  "I just want to get this over with and go home."

Her husband nodded sympathetically.  "Tomorrow, Kay. Tomorrow we'll go home."

 ***

Scott stared at the mural for a very long time.  "Holy cow," he finally said.  "Is that, uh, accurate?"

"How would I know?" Mickey asked.  "Would've made it kinda hard to walk, though."

"It might explain the hip thing," Scott replied.  He tipped his head for another look.  "I don't think so."

"Hey."  The man behind them wore torn jeans and a t-shirt that had been shredded, Incredible-Hulk style, by his massive arms.  "This be a private club."

"We’re friends of Lily's," Mickey answered.

The muscles relaxed visibly.  "Oh.  Welcome to the Velvet Elvis.  Wanna beer?"

"Yes."

Muscles fetched them two beers.  Mickey led to them to the back of the crowded club, away from the mural that gave the club its name, and away from the visibly-blasting speakers. 

"This is where you had the Wall party, isn't it?" Scott asked.

"This is the place.  Memorable evening, that was."  Mickey chugged the top third of his beer.  "Very memorable."

"It's, uh … got character."

"Character.  That's the word for it."  Kostmayer shrugged.  "We could go somewhere with a little less character if you want."

"No."  Scott drank deeply himself.  "This is good.  I've had enough formal for a while.  And tomorrow's only going to be worse."

Mickey drank again.  "I'm surprised Walt wouldn't join us.  He looks like such a party guy to me."

Scott laughed.  "That's Walt.  The party animal.  I'm kinda surprised my dad didn't come, though."

"Speaking of party animals," Mickey agreed dryly.  "I think the historian might have had something to do with that."

"Yeah.  Well, at least he's not sleeping with Lily."

Mickey grinned.  "You sure?"

"I'm sure."  Scott glanced over his beer.  "I've been to the cabin with my psychic girlfriend."

"Oh."  Mickey drained his beer, signaled for another. 

"Dad said you knew."

"I know.  I just got nothin' to say about it."

Scott nodded.  "Yeah.  Me, too."  The beers came.  "Anne's not going to be mad we went out?"

"No.  Annie's with the girls."  Mickey shrugged.  "And we're not like that.  We don't keep track of each other that close." 

"I didn't mean that.  I just meant … never mind."

Kostmayer studied him.  "Because I'm leaving Sunday."

"Yeah."

"Scott, you hear too much."

The young man shrugged.  "Can't help it.  I learned it from my dad."

"I bet you did."  Mickey considered.  "She worries about me.  I worry about her.  But neither of us lets it keep us from doing what we want to do."

"Are you ever going to get married?"

There was a long pause.  "Probably."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to …"

"It's okay.  It's just – it doesn't matter.  Married or not, we're never going to be any closer than we are right now.  It's a piece of paper, a piece of jewelry.  It wouldn't change anything."

Scott rubbed his eyes.  "Where was _that_ piece of advice two weeks ago?"

"Sorry, kid.  It's not that I don't think you should get married.  You're different, you and Becky.  You don't have to prove how independent you are.  You're okay with being – part of a twosome.  That's a good thing.  I wish I was more like that.  But it's not how we are.  You know?"

"I know."

A very drunk and barely dressed woman wandered over and draped her arm over Scott's shoulder.  "Hey, schweetie," she said, "you wanna dance?"

"Uh … no.  Thank you."

"Ah, c'mon …"

Mickey stood up, took the woman by her shoulders, and turned her firmly away.  He whispered in her ear.  She looked at him, then back at Scott.  Then she shook her head sullenly.  "Ain't that always the way?"  She swayed back where she'd come from.

"I don't even want to know what you said to her, do I?"  Scott asked. 

"I doubt it."  They watched the crowd in comfortable silence.  Then Mickey said, "Hey, Scott."

"Yeah?"

"If I don't come back – you look in on her once in a while, okay?  Annie?"

Scott stared at him.

"She won't ask for help, she won't say she's lonely," Mickey continued.  "Just – stick your head in once in a while.  Okay?"

"I promise."  Scott shook his head.  "This all seems so stupid now.  All this worrying about whether the flowers match the dresses and the matchbooks are printed right, when you guys are dealing with – going away and maybe not coming back.  It seems so pointless.  Shallow."

Kostmayer shook his head.  "Don't.  Don't start thinking like that.  It's stuff like this – flowers and matchbooks and fancy dresses, and hell, even murals of the King on velvet – it's the memories that we hang on to out there.  It's the memories.  It's not stupid."

The young man stared thoughtfully through the bottom of his empty mug.  "Light in the dark places.  That's what Lily says."

"She would.  She reads too many books.  But she's right."

"I just didn't expect them to run right up against each other like this.  I don't know how you do it."

Mickey nodded.  He knew what Scott meant.  But he couldn't begin to explain to him how it was.  To leave a formal party, change in the car, walk into a firefight a mile away.  Change in the car and go back to the party, stopping just long enough to wipe the blood off your shoes.  He'd done that, once.  Seemed like the easiest thing in the world at the time.  It wasn't until later, safe and alone, that the whiplash had caught up with him.  It had snapped him around enough to break his neck, emotionally speaking.  Except that Kostmayer had a good strong neck.

They would have this elegant event tomorrow, and what hopefully would be a good party, and the next day, at sunset, they would leave the city, in ones and twos, to London and Paris and Rome, and by the middle of the week they would be in a war zone.  And when they met, in twos and threes in that wasteland, they wouldn't talk about the whiplash.  They'd talk about the party. 

He knew Scott understood it, vaguely, and he couldn't bring himself to make it any clearer to him.  "We should be having way more fun than this."  

Scott shrugged.  "Well, more beer might help."

"Fine idea."  Mickey waved his empty mug in the air. 

 ***

Control walked the corridors with a slow, measured pace.  He was silent, but not conscious of it.  It was nearly midnight; the common offices were mostly empty, though the operations bases were fully staffed.  He wasn't looking for anything.  Just stretching his legs, taking a look around.   He wasn't looking, but he was frequently surprised by the things he saw in the wee hours.

The overheads lights were on in the cubicle farm in the basement.  He paused in the open doorway, listening.  A soft voice, female; the soft clicking of a keyboard.  Then the louder sound of a phone receiver being put down. 

He glided between the office pseudo-walls.  "Don't you ever sleep?" he asked quietly.

He thought he might startle her, but Lily didn't even look away from her computer screen until she'd hit the 'enter' key.  "Don't you?"

"Not much, no."

She looked at him.  They were alone, probably, in this vast warren of desks and half-walls.  But the odds that someone was or could be watching them were huge.  He stayed a safe three feet away.  "Finishing up travel plans," Lily reported.  "The first groups leave early Sunday."

Control nodded.  "Good.  Any complaints?"

"Jimmy, of course.  I moved Stock to Monday; he had some kind of family reunion Sunday.  Other than that, just the usual grumbling."

"Good.  Good.  Papers?"

"In channels.  We'll have them."

"You are marvelously organized, as always.  How's the wedding?"

"Put to bed, as far as I know.  I'll go over to check on the hotel in the morning.  I do not expect insurmountable problems."

"We never do.  It doesn't mean they don't happen."

Lily smirked.  "Aren't you just a ray of sunshine?"

Control drew a small square of paper from his pocket.  "This young man is in Sarajevo.  Jason Masur would like to see that he gets out safely."

"Really?"  Her eyes lit with curiosity as she took the note.  "Why?"

"He is reluctant to say."

"Ah."

"There is no rush," Control continued softly.  "But see if you can find him, once you're settled.  And then see why we want him."

"Limits?"

"Assume that whatever you do will be reported back to Jason."

She smiled sweetly. 

"And don't kill him."

Lily sighed.  "You take the fun out of everything."

 


	13. Wedding Day (Saturday)

Becky woke with a start.  It was late, the room was full of light and heat, and she was alone.  "Scott?"

She sat up, blinking, and realized he wasn't there.  Another blink and she remembered why.  "Oh, God, it's today."

She threw herself to her feet and grabbed her nightgown.  One of the bad habits she'd developed since she'd moved in with Scott was sleeping in the nude.  One of several bad habits.

There was a soft knock on the door.  "Becky?"

"I'm up."

The door opened, and the welcome smell of coffee entered before Yvette did, with a steaming mug.  "My first official duty of the day," she said.  "Coffee."

Becky took it gratefully.  "Thank you.  Give me a minute to brush my teeth and I'll make us some breakfast."

"No, sorry.  We're going out for breakfast."

"We are?"

"Kay's orders.  Drink your coffee, brush your teeth, don't bother to shower, dress casual.  They'll be here in half an hour."

"Don't bother to shower?"

Yvette shrugged.  "That's what she said." 

As she went out, Becky sipped her coffee like needed medicine.  "What in God's name is she up to now?"

 ***

Scott staggered into his father's kitchen, groping for the coffee pot.  He looked around for a cup, then back at the pot, seriously considering drinking directly from it.

"Here," Robert said grudgingly, pouring a cup for him.  "What time did you get in?"

He made a noise that sounded vaguely like 'I dunno'. 

Robert growled.  He knew exactly when the boy had come in, and that he'd been half-carried by Kostmayer.  He was not especially pleased with either of them.  Still, he could hardly be unkind to his only son on his wedding day. 

He clanged his own coffee cup into the sink, and hid a chuckle as the boy flinched away from the noise.  "Sorry.  Why don't you go shower and I'll make you some breakfast?"

"Uhhhh …" Scott took a long slug of coffee.  "Maybe just some toast or something."

"Nervous stomach?"

"Something like that."  Scott chugged the rest of the coffee and staggered towards the shower.

"Take some aspirin," Robert called after him. 

"Duh!"  The door closed softly.

McCall grinned to himself.  He retrieved his cup from the sink, refilled it, and wandered into the den.  The white board was still up, everything neatly checked off.  The ceremony was less than ten hours away.  Whatever wasn't finished now was likely never to be. They would do without it, and they'd get along just fine. 

He paused.  By sundown, Scott would be married.  Not his little boy any more.  Silly thought, really. Scott hadn't been his little boy for years.  If he'd ever been.  And yet it cut, somehow.  Whatever he hadn’t done for his son while he was still a boy, it would never be done now. 

And yet.  His son, his boy, was marrying a perfectly wonderful young woman, bringing her permanently into Robert's life, his family.  For all the rebellious, maddening times Scott had put him through, in the end the boy had done something not only sensible but really quite wonderful.

Robert went to drink and found that his hand was shaking.  He steadied himself, drank, and went to get dressed.

 ***    

"What is _that_?" Becky asked. 

A smiling young black man leaned his hip against a gleaming red-and-chrome convertible.  He wore black slacks and a black polo shirt, and a funny little black cap.  "It's a fifty-seven Buick, Miss. It's yours for the day."

"Where did it come from?" Yvette asked.

"Private collection.  A Mr. Dyson sent it."

"Wait," Kay said, "until you see what he sent for the wedding itself."

"I think I'm afraid," Becky said.  "Where's Lily?"

"She had some work to finish up," Yvette said, "and then she was going to check on things at the hotel.  She said she'd catch up with us later."

Anne circled, taking pictures.  "All right, in the car.  We got a schedule to keep."

"Where are we going?" the bride asked.

"To get your hair done," Kay said simply.

"And everything else," Yvette added. 

Becky blinked at them.  "Now I'm sure I'm afraid."

 ***

Scott stood under the almost-too-hot spray of the shower with his eyes closed, motionless, waiting for the aspirin and caffeine to reach his brain.  He had a screaming headache.  Which was totally unfair, he thought, since he'd only had a few beers.  It wasn't like he'd gotten drunk.  A few beers at an after-hours club with Kostmayer.  Once they got through the serious stuff, they'd had a pretty good time.  He wondered why they'd never gone out before. 

And then he remembered why they'd been out this time.

"Holy shit!"  Consciousness hit him like a brick.  His eyes popped open, and the bright lights of the bathroom seared his beer-soaked brain.  It was today.  It was _today_.

He washed his hair, then scrubbed the rest of his body with the weird see-through soap his father always used.  By the time he dried off, the pain had eased some.  He pulled his jeans on. No point in shaving yet; he'd do that later, just before they left for the church.

The church.  The thrill rushed through him and he gripped the sink, supporting his weight as his knees buckled.  It was today. 

_Today_.

He hung up his towel and sprinted to the back bedroom to change.  Dress slacks and a polo, loafers, no socks.  He hurried back to the kitchen just as his father finished buttering his toast.  "Okay," he announced.  "I'm ready."

Robert was still in his bathrobe and pajamas.  "Good.  Here's your toast."

"Thanks.  What do we have to do now?"

Robert eyed him.  "You have to eat some breakfast.  I have to get dressed.  We might take you for a haircut, I suppose."

"And then what?" Scott asked urgently.

"Then we wait."

"Wait?"

"Yes."

"But what about … don't we need to … there must be something we have to do."

Robert shrugged.  "We'll get some lunch, I suppose, if your stomach settles."

"My stomach's fine," Scott answered irritably.  "You mean we really just have to wait?  All day?"

"Yes."

"All _day_?"

"Well, yes."

"Auggghhhh!"  Scott pressed both palms against his eyes.  The headache had returned.

 ***

The bride groaned from the bottom of her lungs. 

"Too hard?" the masseuse asked quietly.

"No," Becky breathed.  "Perfect."

Satisfied, the woman resumed kneading her back with hands like loaves of warm bread. 

Strong warm bread.

Becky opened her eyes and looked down the row of tables, where the other members of the wedding crew were being similarly pounded and pampered.  "Kay," she said, "this is too much."

"Nonsense," her mother-in-law to be answered.  "This is exactly what we need today."

The masseuse turned Becky's head and her neck crackled like a zipper.  She sighed, completely relaxed.  "Ohhhhh."

The spa – Kay's gift to her new daughter – was full of soft, soothing music.  There had been mud baths and hot showers, an elegant breakfast in their lush thick terry robes, a sauna, now a massage.  There would yet be manicures and pedicures, hairdressers and make-up artists, and lunch.

It was too, too much.  Becky had never been so pampered in her whole life.  It was almost enough to make her forget …

But not quite.

 ***

"Not too short," Scott said anxiously as he sank into the barber's chair.

The old man scowled at him.  "This mess?  Ought to buzz it all and start over."

"No!"

Scott moved to get up, and Robert restrained him with a gentle hand on the shoulder.  "Don't wind him up, Earl.  He's getting married tonight.  Just a trim."

"Married, huh?"  The barber draped a towel over him.  "Even more reason to buzz it."

"Dad!"

"Earl."

"Yeah, yeah," the barber agreed.  "Just a trim.  This time."

He combed through Scott's golden curls with remarkable gentleness and speed.  "Gettin' married, huh?  I was married once.  Worst thirty years of my life."

Scott chuckled uneasily.  "Then what happened?" he asked.

"Then she left me, of course.  Just like in that TV show.  You know, the one with the couple that has all those kids?"

"Eight is Enough?" Scott guessed.

"No, the other one.  With the dog."

"They all have dogs."

"And the housekeeper.  Alice."

"Oh."  Scott nodded.  "Brady Bunch."

"That's it.  Keep your head still, you're gonna lose an ear.  Brady Bunch, that's it.  That Alice was always running off to meet the butcher, remember?  After a couple years of that, my wife decided it looked like a good idea."

"She left you for a butcher?" Scott asked.

"What?  Nah.  Her dermatologist.  But it's the same deal."

Scott looked in the mirror at his father, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.  It was like some bad joke – how is a dermatologist like a plumber?

Robert just shrugged.  He didn't get it either.     

"Yep," the barber went on easily.  "Thought the day I married her was the happiest day of my life.  Then the day she left me – I found out that was the happiest day. You want a little advice, son?"

"Earl," McCall warned.

"Don't put her name on anything. Not the cars, not the house.  Not the credit cards.  As long as she's got to come to you for every dime, she won't go running off with the skin doctor."

Scott frowned.  "Doesn't the dermatologist make more money than you?"

Earl arched his eyebrow.  "That's not the point, son."

"Oh.  Sorry."

"And another thing …"

As the man went on disparaging everything about his ex, her doctor, and marriage in general, Scott looked again to his father for help or guidance or condolence.

Robert shrugged, sat down and picked up an ancient car care magazine.

 ***

As they were bringing in the light luncheon to the lounge, Lily arrived.  "Great, I'm starving," she announced.  She claimed a tiny triangle of cucumber sandwich.  "So, are we liking the luxurious life?"

"I'm loving it," Becky admitted, snuggling deeper into her robe.  "But if I get any more relaxed I'm just going to be a big puddle on the floor."

"This is really wonderful," Yvette agreed.  "Thank you, Kay."

Kay smiled, pleased.  "I thought this would be better than hanging around all day fussing.  How are things at the hotel?"

Lily downed another tiny sandwich.  "Fine.  The cake is set, the band is set, the decorations are done.  The church ladies were bringing pastries when I got there.  It's all good.  Oh, and I brought the flowers for Becky's hair."

"I suppose I ought to get dressed and check on the church."

"You can't," Lily said logically.  "There's another wedding going on, remember?  I'll check it in a bit, but I'm sure everything's fine."

Kay sat back.  "Well.  It seems like we ought to be panicking over something."

"I am not into panicking," Lily said simply.  "We're fine."  She sat down, glanced at the sample card for nail colors they'd been looking at.  "Oooh, blood red, my favorite."

  ***

"We can go somewhere else, if you'd rather," Robert said quietly.

Scott looked where he was looking.  At the back of O'Phelan's, at the same table where the night before the wedding party had celebrated, there now sat a collection of grave-faced men.  They were perfectly ordinary men, here in a casual bar in New York.  In another place, perhaps soon, they would be the most dangerous men on the earth. 

"They're your friends," Scott said.  "It's okay."

"We don't have to sit with them."

But they'd already been seen.  Jimmy said, "Hey, McCall."

"It's okay," Scott said again. 

They went, and the men made room for their chairs.  "Hey, Scott," Mickey said, "how you doin'?"

"Okay, after the aspirin kicked in.  You?"

Kostmayer shrugged.  "It's just beer."

"Big day, huh?" Stock asked from the far end of the table.  "You nervous?"

"A little," Scott admitted.  He ran his hand through his hair.  "Better now that I'm out of the scary barber shop."

"At least you don't have to go see Madam Olga again," Mickey said.

"I can't believe you're getting married," Sterno said.  "Damn, McCall, I remember when he was this big.  Nothing but blond hair and big eyes."

"Yes," Robert agreed fondly, "and now he's a foot taller than you."  He smoothed Scott's hair back into place. 

'This whole marriage thing," Jimmy began slowly, "I gotta tell you …"

Pete brought them ice water.  "Jimmy, don't you tell him anything."

"I wasn't gonna say nothin' bad," Jimmy protested.  "I was just going to say, if you want this thing to work, you gotta work at it.  You know what I'm saying?"

"Um … no," Scott admitted.

"The thing is, a woman's like … like a career.  Only harder.  See?"

Stock said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I don't think he knows," Sterno said.

"Here, like this," Jimmy protested.  "You love your music.  Right?  And you work at it.  You pay attention to it.  Put time into it.  Right?"

"Right," Scott agreed.

"Well, you gotta put at least as much time and energy and attention into your wife as you do to that."

"Oh."

"I hate to admit it," Robert said, "but he does have a point."

"I do," Jimmy said.  "Because a woman, she won't tell you when you're screwing up.  Not until you really screwed it up, and then she'll tell you on her way out the door."

Scott grinned nervously.  "Becky's not like that."

"Not now she isn't.  But you just wait.  Five, ten years from now you'll be watching her pack saying, what the hell did I do, and she'll tell you, chapter and verse, every time you screwed up and you didn't even know about it.  Because a woman never forgets.  Never."

"All right, Jimmy," McCall said, "that's enough advice."

"I think that was about two minutes too much advice," Sterno said.

"I don't know," Stock said.  "He might be right.  I mean, I knew this woman once in Berlin, met her two years later and she was still pissed off because I tore her blouse."

"Did she complain at the time?" Mickey asked.

"Nope.  But two years later, she remembers the blouse and not how it got torn."

"Now _that's_ typical," Sterno said morosely.

"Yeah, with Stock," Mickey kidded.  "He's just not that memorable."

They laughed easily and fell into an animated and somewhat ribald discussion of women they had known and women's behavior in general. 

Robert glanced at Scott, offering his son an escape.  But Scott shook his head, just barely.  It was what he needed, something – anything – to make the afternoon pass.

 ***

Becky stared at herself in the mirror.  She had no idea who was staring back at her.

Her hair, normally straight and long, mousy, had been highlighted and curled and pinned and sprayed.  Tiny white flowers were woven into it.  The three hairdressers had told her not to touch it, but Becky scarcely needed the warning.  It looked soft and light, but she could feel the stiffness of it.  Hurricane winds could not take those curls out.

They'd done her make-up, too.  It had taken two people four times as long as Becky ever spent on her own make-up.  Her skin was perfect, the tones all even, every imperfection concealed.  The blush accented cheekbones she didn't know she had.  But her eyes were the most astonishing.  They were shaded in pink and gold – champagne, the lady had said – and they'd applied mascara – waterproof, as Kay affirmed three times – in layers, and her eyes were simply huge. 

She was, Becky had to admit, beautiful. Even in Scott's old shirt and her denim shorts, she was princess beautiful, fairy tale beautiful.  She just didn't look anything at all like herself.

Which was really kind of depressing.

"Ready?" Yvette said.

Becky turned.  Her maid of honor had been similarly painted and pampered.  But Yvette still looked like herself.  "I'm not sure Scott will even recognize me."

Yvette laughed.  "He will.  Don't worry.  You look great."

"I know.  I just don't look like me."

Yvette hugged her, careful of the hair.  "C'mon.  Clarence is waiting."

  ***

Clarence was waiting with a different classic car.  This one was a hard-top, navy and chrome, with shark-like fins and whitewalls as wide as her hand. 

"I feel underdressed," Becky said as she sank into the white leather back seat. 

Clarence smiled at her as he closed the door.  "Miss, you are beautiful.  And this old lady's just glad to get out of that garage and roll her wheels a little."

He walked to the driver's door, his fingers lovingly brushing high-gloss finish.

 ***

"I should shave," Scott said, back at his father's apartment.

"Yes."

"I could shower again."

"Yes."

"Do we have time?"

Robert smiled indulgently.  "We have time, Scott.  We have plenty of time."

 ***

Pete O'Phelan greeted them at the door of the church.  "I think everything's set," she said.

"The florist got here?" Kay asked.

Pete cleared her throat.  "He just left."

"Oh.  I wanted to thank him in person."

"He said something about finishing up at the hotel."

"Oh."  Key stepped into the sanctuary and looked around.  "Oh, the end pieces are lovely."

Pete nodded.  "Yes."  She turned to Becky.  "Nervous?"

"Numb."

"You'll be fine, sweetie."

"Thanks for all your help."

Pete hugged her gently.  "Glad to do it." 

"Should we change?" Yvette asked.

"Wait as long as you can," Kay advised.  She was already wearing her dress, pale green and chiffon, and sweating.  "But we should get out of sight, I suppose."

Becky took one more look around.  Then she went up the stairs to the brides' room.

 ***

"We need to go now, Scott," Robert said gently.

The boy looked alarmed.  "Now?  Already?"

McCall glanced at his watch.  "Yes, now."

"Oh.  Okay.  It just … it seems so soon."

Robert smiled gently.  This was the young man who'd been checking the time compulsively all afternoon.  Who'd been complaining about how slowly it passed.  And now he wasn't, quite, ready.

He reminded Robert of another young groom he'd once known.  And been.

If I had known on my wedding day that Manon was raising my daughter …

He shook his head.  Far, far too late for that.  "Forward and onward," he said heartily, as much to himself as to his son.

 ***

"If you put the dress on now," Anne said, "we can get some of the bridal shots out of the way."

Becky had been sitting very still, her hands folded in her lap.  She looked up, alarmed.  "Now?  Already?"

"It'll be okay," Yvette said.  "We've still got a little time.  I'll get dressed first, if you want."

Becky nodded faintly.  After the day had dragged by, now time was suddenly flying.  Once she put the dress on, there was no stopping it. Less than an hour.

Yvette shucked out of her jean shorts and shirt – unbuttoning it, not pulling it over her professionally shaped hair – and carefully stepped into the dress Kay held for her.  A bit of adjustment and she was set.  "Thank God we don't have to wear pantyhose with this," she said as she slipped into her shoes.

Kay snorted.  "Speak for yourself."

"Sorry."

Anne glanced down.  She was wearing a mid-length black khaki skirt and a white cotton blouse, ankle socks and a brand-new pair of white sneakers.  She'd made the decision that mobility was more important than elegance for a wedding photographer.  And as hot as the day was shaping up to be, she was very glad. 

Kay opened a white sheet on the floor, then took the wedding dress from its bag and carefully laid it out.  Becky took a deep breath and peeled her street clothes off.  As she stepped into the circle of the gown, there was a light knock on the door.

"I got it," Anne said.  She went and stepped into the hall, closing the door discreetly behind her.

Mickey Kostmayer swept her into his arms and kissed her half-senseless.

"Whoa," Anne said, when she could breathe.  "What was that for?"

He laughed.  "For not making me the one who has to go through all this today."

"Oh, you are so romantic," she laughed.  "I was just thinking the same thing.  This is all so lovely – and better her than me."

"Scott's here," Mickey said.  "And Robert.  I was sent to report."

"I'll let them know."

"And I'm supposed to report back on the condition of the bride."

"She's fine," Anne said.  "A little nervous, but fine.  And the groom?"

"Flaking out, but Robert's sitting on him.  Don't tell Becky that.  Just say he's fine."

"Got it.  Where's Lily?"

Mickey shrugged.  "She'll be here.  I gotta go change."

"And again, better you than me."

"Yeah," Mickey winced.  "Who the hell decided to have this wedding in July?"

They shared a look, and said in unison, "Kay."

 ***

With the bride dressed, Kay went down to the atrium and hovered, greeting guests.  Greeting _some_ of the guests.  Her friends, her neighbors, her relatives.  A few of Robert's associates.  People who knew how to dress for a wedding. 

There were a fair percentage who were clueless.  Scott's friends, she assumed, and Becky's, based on their age, musicians and cooks and, God forbid, waiters.  They wore halter tops and short-short skirts, flip-flops with glued-on sequins.  One young man wore a sport jacket over a wide-meshed jersey.  One had a nice suit and beat-up sneakers on his feet.

She could see her friends and relatives eyeing the kids nervously, and she didn't blame them.  No one was going to be very comfortable at this wedding.  She should have screened Scott's guest list.  Kay wanted to ban them.  She had to settle for ignoring them.  But she ignored them just as pointedly as she could.

At least Kostmayer looked decent.  His tuxedo fit well, and though he'd refused to wear a tie, the tab collar with a black stud looked formal and elegant.  She wouldn't have thought he'd clean up so well.  He'd even gotten a haircut for the occasion. 

Lily arrived at four-thirty.  Kay looked the young woman up and down swiftly.  She was wearing a tiny black dress and high heeled sandals, emerald stud earrings, and as far as Kay could tell, precious little else.  Certainly not a bra, and if there were panties they were too tiny to show under the tight little dress.

It did not improve Kay's mood any when the eighty-year old man who had been their neighbor when Scott was a boy wheeled around to stare at her.  If Lily's slender build didn't require a bra, certainly an occasion as important as a wedding did. 

"Everything under control?" Lily asked.

"Of course," Kay snapped.  "Where have you been?"

"At the hotel.  Everything's set."

Kay exhaled heavily and tried to get her temper under wraps.  "Pete did a fine job recycling the altar flowers."

Lily just smiled.  "And no one can tell the difference, can they?"

"That's not the point."

"Of course it is."

Mickey returned from seating a guest and did a double-take.  "Hey, girl," he said, kissing Lily on the cheek, "what happened to the rest of your dress?"

"I left it beside some bed somewhere.  You're not so bad yourself."

Kay glared at them. This was no time for casual flirtation.  "Mickey, this is Mrs. McGilly and her husband Marco."

He smiled, perfectly polite, and took the old lady's hand on his arm.  "I have a seat all picked out for you," he said warmly.  "Lil, catch you later."

"Maybe if you're fast enough."

"Honey, I think you're fast enough for both of us."

He left, and Kay limited her glare just to Lily.  The spy was completely unimpressed. "I'm going to go check on the boys," she announced.  "Maybe see if I can talk Scott into one last fling." 

"That's not funny!" Kay barked.  She was talking to the woman's retreating back.

 ***

"Perfect," Anne murmured, to the bride and to her camera.  "That's perfect." 

They'd snuck out of the bride's room and out onto a small balcony at the side of the church.  The background was simple, just the plain bricks of the church, and there was barely enough room to flare the dress's train, but the light was wonderful.  Becky looked serious and solemn, but Anne did not try to tease a smile from her.  Her face showed what she felt, and the pictures would be perfect.  The heat was so far giving her a nice glow, though Anne knew they were working against the clock there.

She got a few shots of Yvette alone, then put them together.  She would have added Kay if the woman hadn't vanished, but her instinct told her not to hunt her down.  Kay had been quieter, calmer the last few days, but today she seemed to have her bitter edge back.  The more she stayed away from Becky, the better.

Yvette said something very quietly in Becky's ear, and they both laughed like schoolgirls.  Anne caught it.  She was on a roll; she was catching everything.  She'd been a little uncertain of her ability to be the official wedding photographer, despite Mickey's reassurances, but it felt good today, right.  She'd done her homework.  She knew what light to expect, what shadows, what speed.  It would be fine.

Tomorrow night Mickey was leaving.

With an impatient shake of her head, Anne turned the girls towards the sunlight and moved in closer.

 ***

Beverly Heat arrived with minimal flourish. 

Stock met her car at the side of the church and held her door for her and her mother.  "Right this way," he instructed calmly.  "We don't want to start a riot out front."

The pop star sighed.  "It's been a while since I started a riot anywhere."

Stock looked her gallantly up and down.  "Pardon my saying so, Miss, but you could start a riot even if you never sang a note."

She smiled, a full, true smile.  And she blushed.  As Stock opened the church door for her, both she and her mother giggled.

Stock shook his head.  Out of his league, that one.  And he was leaving Monday anyhow.  But a guy could dream.  And he was fairly sure he'd dream about her, at least a time or two.

 ***

Scott tugged at his shirt cuffs as if the sleeves were too short.  "Stop," Robert advised.  "If you tear one, Madam Olga will be most upset."

His son scowled at him. "What time is it?"

"Two minutes later than last time you asked.  About ten minutes to go."

The boy scowled deeper and threw himself into one of the upholstered chairs in the pastor's study.  "This hour has lasted forever."

"I know," Robert agreed.  He tugged discreetly at his own sleeves.  The window air conditioner tried valiantly, but the study hovered at about eighty degrees.  Both of their jackets were draped on the desk chair; they were loath to put them on a minute before they had to.  "Come here, let me fix your tie for you."

"I can do it," Scott complained, but he lumbered to his feet. 

"Yes, I see that," Robert said, examining the bow.  "You've done quite a nice job.  I suppose you'll need that skill, once you're wearing it every night again."

"I can't believe this is all happening so fast."

Robert smiled.  "And yet this last hour has lasted forever."  He smoothed his son's anxiety-rumpled sleeves.  The emerald cufflinks sparkled cheerfully. 

"Pop, I'm getting married in ten minutes.  Don't expect me to make any sense."

There was a gentle rap on the door and Lily came in without pause.  "Robert, they need you in the sanctuary."

The men stared at her.  "What's wrong?"  Scott asked.

"Nothing's wrong.  Unity candle thing.  We're ready to start."

"Oh."  Robert let himself breathe again.  "Right."  He started out.

"Robert," Lily called sweetly.  "Jacket."  She slipped out and closed the door behind her.

"Right, right."  He returned for his jacket, slipped it on, tugged at his sleeves again.  "Right."  He paused and turned to Scott.  "I, ah.  I'm supposed to have some words of great wisdom here, I'm sure.  I just, I can’t think of a one."

"It's okay, Dad."

Robert nodded.  But he tried anyhow.  "Marrying Becky is the wisest thing I could have advised you to do, and you did that all on your own.  So … perhaps you don't need any wisdom from me at all."

"Or maybe I learned all I needed to know a long time ago."

"Maybe," Robert allowed.  "You'll make mistakes, Scott.  In your marriage.  That's inevitable.  Just … try not to make the same ones you saw me make."

"I … I …"

Robert moved closer and put his arms around his son.  "I love you, Scott."

"I love you too, Dad."

"All right, then."  McCall straightened, tugged his sleeves again.  "Well.  I'll be off, then.  Ah – see you on the other side."

"That's not the most encouraging thing you've ever said."

"Sorry."  With one more encouraging pat, Robert stepped into the hall.   

Lily stared at him in a way that made him adjust his jacket.  "Damn!" she said softly. 

 ***

The pastor was waiting with Kay in the atrium at the back of the sanctuary.  He had two slender white candles in his hand.  "Ready?" he asked.

"Nearly," Robert answered.  He paused to kiss Kay on the cheek.  "You look lovely, Kay."

"Thank you, Robert.  You're not so bad yourself."

They turned as one to the pastor.  "Ready," Robert said.

"Good, good."  He gave them each a candle.  "This is very simple.  Wait until the guests are out of the way – we'll hold newcomers here.  Walk up the aisle together and light the tall candles on each side of the altar.  The only trick is, don't let your candles go out on your way up the aisle.  Good?"

"Good," Robert said, "except these candles aren't lit."

"Right."  The pastor patted his pockets.  "Ahhh …"

Inside the church, a soft piano began, and then Beverly Heat's angelic voice started on the first verse of 'There is Love.'  It was a fairly corny song, in Robert's view, but between them, played and sung with real emotion and love, it was beautiful.

Mickey came back from his final seating chore, looked at the candles, and produced his Zippo without a word.  They lit the candles, and then they walked, slowly, up the aisle together. 

Lily said, "You need to go wait with Scott."

"To make sure he doesn't make a run for it?" Mickey asked.

"To make sure he doesn't puke on his tuxedo."  She looked at him seriously.  "Madam Olga will not be pleased."

Mickey quailed.  "No, no.  Can't have that."  He headed briskly up the hall.

 ***

"Robert?" Yvette called softly.  "Can we come out?"

McCall looked around the atrium quickly.  He had deposited Kay next to Walter in the front pew.   Stock had taken over seating the last few arrivals, including Mira, who was sitting in the back – he'd wanted her in the front with him, but she wouldn't hear of it.  The door was firmly closed.  Only Anne waited with him.  "The coast is clear."

Yvette came out from the little anteroom and held that door while Becky followed.  Behind her, Lily made sure the train cleared the door before it closed, then fussed it open. 

"You look beautiful," Robert said warmly.

Becky blushed deeply.  She looked shaky, and when he took her hands they felt like ice.  Anne shot a couple quick pictures; the first one startled the bride, but by the third she was ignoring them. 

Yvette helped fuss with the train, the two women getting in each other's way.  "The dress looks wonderful, doesn't it?  Kay was so worried about the bead work, but it's just beautiful."

"Yes, but she would be beautiful in sackcloth," Robert answered.  He drew Becky closer still.  He could feel her body tremble.  He turned at Yvette.  "And you are beautiful as well, my dear."

She grinned, her mother's grin.  "Thanks." 

"Wait'll you see Mickey," Lily advised her.

"Hot?"

"Smokin'."

Yvette looked anxiously to Anne.  "Sorry."

The photographer shrugged.  "He's hot.  I can't blame you for looking.  Just don't touch."

"I'll try," Yvette promised dubiously.   

"Do you think he really has a tranquilizer dart?" Becky asked.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Lily said.  "He has some very Boy Scout like tendencies."

Heather, the church lady, peeked out through the sanctuary door.  "Everybody ready?"

Becky began to tremble again, and Robert gathered her close.  "We're ready," he announced.

 ***

Half of each back pew in the sanctuary had been removed to accommodate wheelchairs, and so Mickey had logically seated Munchie's family in the half-pew next to him. Lily had chosen to sit in the back row as well, on the opposite side, where she could move around unobtrusively if she needed to.

Reverend Tom had barely gotten through his introduction and started an opening prayer when into the silence Emily said, loudly, "Mama, I can't see!"

Shelly shushed her and the prayer continued, but the child squirmed and fussed audibly.  "I can't see!" she complained again in a stage whisper.

Smiling, Becky glanced back.  Lily was on her feet, as expected.  But then something quite unexpected happened.  Control appeared – there was no other word for it – from the shadows, moved to the end of the pew, and lifted the fussing child into his arms.

Emily made a surprised little gurgle.  Then she realized that from her new perch she could see everything, better than anyone else, and she cooed with contentment and snuggled against his shoulder.

There was a barely audible 'aww' from the guests.  Control retreated to the corner with the girl on his hip, comfortable, as if he held little girls every day, as if he had a few of his own at home.

He was wearing a black suit, Becky noted, and a white shirt and what from the front of the church looked like a pink tie – but she had to be imagining that.

She swung her attention back towards Rev. Tom, but something else caught her. 

Lily was still on her feet.  She had one hand on the back of the pew and she looked like she needed it.  She was looking at Control, her eyes bright, her mouth slightly open, staring at where he stood casually with a child in his arms, so easy, so affectionate …

The vision hit Becky like a brick.  She could feel Lily's thoughts – that could be _our_ child – and then the premonition.  They could have everything they wanted, Control and Lily, everything, but it would cost them everything they had.  There was blinding joy for them, but horrible darkness as well.  Perfect healing, at the cost of absolute brokenness. 

And they knew it.

They had no need of her premonitions.  They knew exactly what they could have.  They knew exactly what price they would have to pay.

And neither of them, at this moment, could pay it.

Becky began to cry.

She turned back to Rev. Tom.  Put it out of your head, pay attention, stop crying, get a grip, but she couldn't, she couldn't stop; instead it got worse and she was sobbing. 

Tom stopped, confused.  "Becky?" he said, very quietly, so only those at the altar could hear it.

Becky tried to say, 'Go ahead', but all that came out was "G-g-g-g-g."

"Becky," he said again, "are you all right?"

It was too much.  The music, the candles, the flowers.  The dress.  The friends.  The gifts.  Too, too much, and much too easy.  They hadn't had to give up anything.  A few nights' sleep, a few unpleasant moments with Kay – it was nothing, compared to what others would have to sacrifice to be where she was – and she couldn't even get the words out.  "G-g-g-g."

The guests were dead silent.

Scott said, "Okay," to himself, and then he was right beside her. He put his arm around her waist, took her flowers and handed them to Yvette so he could gather her hands in his.  Kissed the tears on her cheek.  He wasn't supposed to kiss her yet.  He didn't care, and she didn't.  She lifted her face to his and he kissed her cheeks again, freed his hand to wipe her eyes.

He smiled, tender encouragement.  "I still have fifteen bucks," he whispered.

Becky smiled back.

The 'awww' from the guests this time was clearly audible. 

"I'm sorry," she said.

Scott shook his head.  "I like this better anyhow." 

Becky sniffed.  The crying had made her nose run.  From behind her, she saw Kay move out of her pew.  She saw Mickey move, too, a step closer, his hand in his jacket.  But Kay simply took one step up and handed Scott a handkerchief.  Then she returned to her seat.

Mickey retreated, his hands in plain view again.

Becky almost laughed.  There were best men, and there were _really_ best men. 

Scott tried to wipe her face.  She took the handkerchief and did it herself, gently, trying not to smudge the make-up any more.  It was probably hopeless. But Scott was there, his arms safe around her, and he was warm and he loved her, and the rest didn't matter, and never really had.

She took a deep breath, leaned against Scott and looked back at Rev. Tom, and finally managed to say, "Go ahead."

Tom smiled broadly and launched into the service.

 ***

It was a blur, mostly.  Becky leaned on Scott and listened to Tom, repeated her vows after him when she was told.  And for as calm as Scott seemed, she could feel the tension in him, too.  She heard the tiny crack in his voice when he began his own vows, and she squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

"Do you have the rings?" Rev. Tom asked.

Scott looked to Mickey.  Kostmayer looked back at him blankly.  Then, surprised, he began to pat his pockets.  Scott groaned.  But Mickey, grinning, came up with the rings.  "Right where I put them," he murmured as he handed them over.

"Not funny," Scott muttered back.

But Becky and Yvette giggled anyhow.

It wasn't until the closing prayer that Becky realized the service was much briefer than the one they'd rehearsed with Father Nick.

In the presence of an apparently hysterical bride, Tom had opted for the short version.

Perhaps Kay would be offended, but Becky was profoundly glad.  Even with Scott's arm around her, she felt as if she might fall.  The shorter the space between 'Dearly beloved' and 'husband and wife', the happier she was.

She was so distracted by the quavering of her knees that she almost didn't hear that last part, the husband and wife pronouncement.  She heard clearly, though, Tom say, "You may kiss …" Then she flung her arms around Scott's neck and kissed him fiercely.

Rev. Tom said, "Or she may kiss you, whatever."

They turned to the guests, who were standing.  An odd crowd, Becky thought, and hoped Anne had pictures.  Middle-aged spooks in dark glasses, and long-haired boys in jeans.  And everything in between.   Our people, she thought.  Our family, our friends.  The ring was heavy on her finger, but she welcomed it.  _Ours._   Together. 

And then Scott took her arm and swept her down the aisle.

 ***

In the atrium, in the brief moment before the others came out, Becky said, "I'm so sorry."

Scott frowned at her.  "Why?  You did great."

"I had a vision."

"About us?"

"No.  And it wasn't …" She stopped, because Mickey and Yvette had joined them.  "Tell you later."

There were hugs and kisses and handshakes, and then Robert and Kay were there, with Walter tagging behind, and then there were all the guests to greet.  Becky's knees felt solid again, but her face quickly began to ache from smiling.  She apologized for the upset to the first few people, but it became apparent that nobody had minded, and about every third person told her it was the most touching ceremony they'd ever seen. 

Munchie and Shelly came out near the end.  The mother apologized profusely for her daughter's behavior, but Scott and Becky both waved her off.  "It was a great tension-breaker," Scott said.  "To be honest, I was glad she did it."

"Where is Emily, anyhow?" Becky asked.

Shelly gestured back towards the sanctuary.  "She won't let go of him."

"Well, who can blame her?"

They moved on, and after a few more people Control came out with Emily still in his arms.  He shook Robert's hand first.  "Well, old son, one down and one to go."

Robert rolled his eyes.  "Don't remind me." 

"Six months in Manhattan, she's almost sure to find someone interesting."

McCall growled at his old friend, who grinned and moved on. 

Control greeted Kay formally, in passing, then shook Scott's hand firmly.  "Well done, young man.  Congratulations."

"Thanks," Scott grinned.  "And, uh, thanks for letting us use all your help."

Control raised one eyebrow.  "I don't know anything about that."

Scott laughed.  "Okay, sorry, forget I said anything."

The spymaster hugged Becky awkwardly, one-armed.  "Congratulations."

"Thank you."  She ruffled Emily's hair.  "Found a friend, did you?"

"He's tall," Emily said.  "I'm sorry I was too loud."

"It's okay," Becky said. 

"You're really pretty."

"Thank you."

The girl looked over Control's shoulder, then squirmed finally to be put down.  "Lily!" she said, running back into the sanctuary.

"So fickle at that age," he said.

Becky took his hands again.  "I had a …"

Control looked at her.  In his calm, intelligent eyes was deep understanding, deep pain.  He knew what she was about to say.  He didn't need to hear it – he didn't _want_ to hear it.   Not out loud, the things he and Lily could not put into words for themselves.  They knew.  She looked away, down at his tie.  It really was pink, with little blue-grey dots.  Becky straightened it, looked back up.  "I'm glad you could make it."

He nodded, understanding that, too.  "Thank you."

 ***

By the time they finished pictures and signed the license, the crowd had moved on to the hotel.  Clarence waited for them with a white convertible limousine, top down, tasteful 'just married' signs on the doors and the trunk.

"How many cars does this Mr. Dyson have?" Becky asked.

Scott helped her rearrange her dress on the seat before they sat down.  "A lot."

"Where do you know him from?"

"He's a … he used to work with my dad."

"And he has this much money?"

Scott nodded.  "Investments, my dad says."

Clarence eased the car lovingly from the curb. 

"Wow.  We'll have to send him a thank-you note."

"Yes.  Except I have no idea where to mail it."

"Your dad would know."

"Our dad.  Yeah, maybe.  I'll ask."

Around them, cars honked their horns and people waved congratulations. It seemed rude not to wave back.

"This is so strange," Becky laughed.  "I feel like I'm a princess or something."

"You look like a princess," Scott said, and kissed her.

The kiss brought more appreciative honks.

 ***

Kay surveyed the ballroom with great approval.

The tables were covered with white linen.  The flowers on each table had perfumed the air softly; the candles made the crystal glasses shine.

The Marty Usher Band wore pale blue pants and seersucker sports coats.  They were wonderfully traditional, playing old standards like, 'It Had to Be You' and 'I'm Getting Sentimental Over You'.  Proper, appropriate wedding songs.   They had played from the time the first guests arrived, without the singer, through cocktails and appetizers, as background music. 

The crowd had split, the older folks to one side of the room, Scott's friends to the other.  Kay had hoped the spooks would skip the reception altogether, but they were there, taking over two tables near the exits. 

Scott and Becky arrived.  They wanted to linger, talking to the guests, but Kay recognized that the guests had already been there a while and were growing restless and hungry.  She guided the newlyweds quickly to the buffet line and got them settled at the head table.  Mickey and Yvette followed them, and the rest of the guests quickly fell in line.

Becky was eating all those vegetables again, but Kay let it go.  No point in making a fuss now.   She got her own plate, but barely ate, busy tending to the guests.

Before the guests had been fed, there was the tinkle of silver tapped on glass.  Kay flinched; this was one of the stupider wedding traditions.  But she turned and watched as Scott wiped his mouth and dutifully kissed his bride.

Mickey Kostmayer stood up, his glass in his hand.  The crowd grew quiet, even those still moving through the buffet line. 

Kostmayer said, "Good evening.  My name's Mickey and I'm the best man.  They told me if I got all dressed up like this, I got to stand up here and say anything I wanted to."  He paused and grinned, evilly.  The crowd tittered nervously.  "But I'm not going to, because I'm not sure who has my dart gun right now."

"I do," Becky called.

"Ah, great.  So I'm just going to say, congratulations to Becky and Scott, and may all their adventures be as well-planned as this one has been."

There was applause and drinking, and more demands for kissing. Mickey sat down, but not before Becky had stood to kiss him.

The minute Becky put her fork down, Marty Usher stepped to the microphone.  "Ladies and gentlemen," the singer announced, "in their first dance as man and wife, Scott and Becky McCall."

The bride blushed deeply, but they took to the floor, alone for a few minutes, to 'All the Things You Are'.  Kay was afraid that Marty would say something stupid about 'all the parents', but the singer had obviously been briefed on that topic.  After the first verse Mickey and Yvette came onto the floor.  Kay turned, found herself in Robert's arms on the floor.  Then other couples joined them, and that was that.       

The hotel crew hustled half-invisibly to clear plates as soon as they were empty, to fill glasses as soon as they were empty.  A few dances in and most of the crowd was done eating.

They had begun to mix, Kay noted.  The young man in the battered sneakers was dancing with the Scott's aunt; a girl with proudly displayed tattoos was in skinny Jimmy's arms.  She wondered what in the world they had to talk about, but there they were.  Munchie's older daughters danced with Lettie's sons, and Emily danced with anyone who would have her.  

Off in the corner, half the spooks had gathered a crowd, young and old, in what looked like a recruitment meeting. 

They paused again for cake cutting, with all its attendant ritual, and then the band resumed. 

The dessert table groaned with _kolaczki_ and _babka_ , tortes and marzipan, poppy seed rolls and fruit tarts and half a dozen sweets that Kay could not even identify.  Whatever she tried was wonderful.  

Eventually, many of Kay's guests began to leave.  More spooks showed up, and a good number of people she didn't know, of all ages.  Scott's old friends, and members of his touring company.  The remaining guests mixed more and more.  The elegant reception was turning into a party.

Scott's band took over.  They played their standards for a while, new-age jazz, and people continued to dance.  Then Beverly Heat walked up to the stage and talked to Rory.  Some conversation later, she stepped up to the microphone and began to sing, 'A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes'.

The crowd loved it.  They loved it more when an unknown tenor joined her and they sang an impromptu duet on 'All My Life'.  The music was a little shaky, but the voices were great and the freshness undeniable.  

Then the soprano from the show took over, and they began to take requests.

 ***

"You know," Jimmy said, "I heard this rumor about him."

Stock looked across to where Control was sitting next to McCall's new lady.  "We hear rumors about him all the time.  What's new?"

"The rumor was that maybe he, uh, hit from the other side of the plate."

"Yeah, right.  You got that from that Nancy girl, didn't you?  Mickey says she's crazy."

"Yeah, I know.  But I'm just wondering.  That tie."

"What about it?"

"It's pink."

Stock considered.  "It's more salmon, really."

"Now _you're_ starting to worry me."

Sterno joined them, his plate heavy with cake.  "What's Stocky got you worried about?"

"Control's tie."

"The pink one?"

"Yeah."

"It's a signal," Sterno said with certainty.

"What?"

"It's a signal.  He's sending a signal to someone.  If you ever see me wearing a pink tie in public, you know to do whatever."

"You're making that up," Stock said.

Sterno shrugged.  "I'm telling you.  He's done it before."

"Yeah, but who's he signaling?" Jimmy asked.

"If you figure that out," Sterno said, around a mouthful of cake, "he'll probably have to shoot you."

The three of them considered for a moment.  Then they all looked pointedly elsewhere. 

 ***

"Really wonderful," Kay's old neighbor told her.  "I don't know how you managed it in so little time, but this is really a wonderful wedding."

Kay smiled, tired.  "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"And such a lovely couple they are."

She looked across at them.  Scott was talking with one of his grubby friends and eating cake at the same time.  She stifled the urge to tell him not to talk with his mouth full.  Becky looked exhausted.  The crying at the altar – but Scott had done so well with that.  "Yes," she agreed quietly.  "I think they'll be very happy."

"And the cake is simply amazing.  Where did you ever find it?"

An old spook friend of Robert's, Kay nearly blurted.  Instead, she smiled and said, "I have their card, I'll send it to you.  It really is amazing, isn't it?"

"This whole thing has been amazing.  You should be very proud of yourself for managing to do it."

The friend drifted off in search of more cake.  Kay looked over the room.  There were a dozen people, maybe more, who had helped make this wedding possible.  And she'd been a proper bitch to nearly all of them. 

Her eyes fell on Lily Romanov.  The impossibly tiny dress had drawn a swarm of Scott's scruffy friends, and Lily was flirting with them all.  Scarlett O'Hara taking barbeque with her suitors.  But while Kay watched, the girl's eyes wandered off across the room.  Kay followed her gaze, and found that it rested firmly on Control, who was dancing with Mira.  Robert's new flame, and weren't the two of them cozy? 

And what the hell was the spy doing in a pink tie? 

She looked back at Lily.  Lily was still watching Control. 

Just an employee, seeing what her boss is up to at a social function. 

She looked back and caught Control, briefly, looking at Lily.

Maybe he was talking to Mira about her.

From the far side of the room, Kay could feel the connection between them.  And it had nothing to do with the damned Company.

 ***

Control crossed to where Lily was sitting and touched her shoulder.  She looked up, then stood without a word and let him lead her to the dance floor.  "Twice in one year," she said quietly as she moved into his arms.  "What will people say?"

"They'll say that you're exceedingly kind to your grumpy old boss," Control answered, "and that you're probably bucking for a promotion."

"Hey, hey, this is a family event … oh, you said _bucking,_ didn't you?"  She frowned.  "I never in a million years thought you'd wear that tie in public."

Control smiled.  "Yes, I know.  That's why I did it."

"It makes a statement."

"What statement?"

"Mmm.  Something that will get me sent to Siberia."

He chuckled.  "You did a good job with this.  I think you missed your calling."

"No," Lily answered.  "My calling is enabling all manner of assignations."

"And the occasional assassination."

"If need be."

They danced quietly for a moment.  Control's eyes fell on Kay McCall – she would always be Kay McCall to him, no matter how many times she remarried.  She was at the bar, sipping a much-too-frilly drink much too quickly.  She looked, as always, unhappy.  Her gaze kept going to the bandstand, where her carefully-orchestrated entertainment had become a free-form karaoke party.  The crowd seemed to enjoy it.  People were staying, and dancing.  But it didn't suit Kay one bit.   

She really hadn't liked it when Lily got them to play 'Friends in Low Places' and turned it into a sing-along.

Control sighed.

"What are you thinking about?" Lily asked quietly.

He looked down at her, his blue eyes serious.  "Susan," he answered.

She didn't flinch from the mention of his old lover's name.  "Wishing she was here?"

Control shook his head.  "I was wondering, if she'd stayed, how long it would have been before she turned into Kay."

Lily followed his eyes to where the woman sat.  "Maybe she wouldn't have."

"She would," Control answered with certainty. 

"You said she was very strong."

"She was.  But not like you are."  He drew a deep breath.  "She saw the dark coming into my life, and she had the strength to escape from it.  You see the dark and you shrug and follow me in."

Lily considered.  "It might have worked out anyhow.  She might have spared you some of the darkness."

"No."  Control shook his head solemnly.  "In the beginning, perhaps.  But in the end, the darkness would have won, and she would have turned bitter and angry and resentful."  He looked again to Kay, who was tapping the bar impatiently, waiting for a refill.  "Sooner or later she would have left me.  And it would have destroyed both of us."

"Hmmm," Lily answered, in a wonderfully noncommittal tone.  "But she might have left you with an Yvette, with a Scott."

"Ah, yes.  A son I barely know, and a daughter I don't know at all.  That would be great comfort, I'm sure."

"You wouldn't have dealt with them the way Robert did."

Control considered.  "I probably would have."  He shook his head.  "I have always thought of Susan as the one who got away.  Always that little sentimental … ache.  I wouldn't go back," he added quickly, "I wouldn't trade one minute of what you and I have.  It's just always been a comfortable delusion.  A 'might have been'.  Until now.  And now I'm seeing just how damn lucky I was that she _did_ get away from me."

After a moment, Lily said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That you've lost your comfortable delusion."

Control shook his head.  "Well, it's not like I need it any more, now is it?  When the reality is so much better than the delusion ever was?  The thing is, if I had held onto Susan longer, if I had married her and then lost her – and I would have lost her, there's no doubt about that – I don't think I would have had the courage to try again.  To fall in love with you.  And that really would have been a tragedy."

Lily leaned forward, and he lowered his head towards her, to kiss her.  There was a tinkling of silver on china, quickly echoed throughout the party.  All attention turned to where Scott and Becky were once again obliged to kiss.

Control and Lily moved apart to a respectable boss/employee dancing distance.

Control looked across the room to Robert.  McCall still had his spoon in his hand, poised next to his wine glass.  With the lift of one heavy eyebrow, he thanked his friend grudgingly for saving him from a major blunder.  McCall glowered at him warningly, then shifted his glance to the woman and shrugged in understanding.

 ***

"I wouldn't have thought," Becky giggled, "that you knew how to dance like this."

Kostmayer twirled her expertly, caught her back firmly in his arms.  "It's a required course at spy school."  She giggled.  "Had enough champagne, have you?"

"Just the one glass," Becky promised.  "The rest is just relief that it's finally over."

"That bad?"

"Just … Kay."

Mickey glanced over her shoulder, spotted the woman, twirled the bride away.  "Who is now legally and officially your family member."

Becky sighed.  "Everyone's having fun but her."

"Don't let her get to you, kid.  She doesn't know how to have fun, I don't think."

"It sounds awful, but I'm glad I'm going to Europe."

"It doesn't sound awful.  It sounds like you're running away from her."  He grinned.  "Heck, maybe me and Lily will come look you guys up some time, check up on you.  But, uh, we'll call first, right?"

Becky didn't answer.  Mickey leaned back to look at her.  The girl had a curiously blank expression on her face.  He knew that look.  The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.  "Becky?  What is it?"

The look passed.  She blinked at him, alarmed.  "I-I-I … where's Lily?"

Kostmayer spun, spotted the agent across the room.  "There."

"I'm sorry, I need to …"

"Hang on."  He slung his arm around her waist again and steered her expertly though the crowd.  "Lil?"

Lily swore quietly.  "What'd Kay do now?"

"It's not her," Becky said.  "It's … it's … you need to call home.  Right away."

"I live alone, sweetie.  If I call home, nobody had better answer."

"No, not … y-your other home.  Your real home."

Lily had gone pale.  "You're not making any sense, Becky."

"Th-th-the woman.  With the blue numbers."  She gestured at the inside of her wrist.  "She wants you.  But you have to hurry."

"Shit!"  Lily bolted for the nearest exit.

"I'm sorry," Becky called sadly after her.

"It's okay," Mickey assured her.  "It'll be okay."

"No.  It'll be sad."  She leaned against his shoulder.  "But yeah, it'll be okay, later."

Scott came up behind them.  "Oh, God, what'd my mom do now?"

"Not her, this time," Becky breathed as she moved into his arms.  "Just another flash.  It'll be okay."

"Be right back," Mickey said.  He threaded through the crowd again to where Control was dancing with his goddaughter.  "Mind if I cut in?" he said.

"I do, actually," Control grumbled.

"I don't," Yvette smiled.

"Good."  He claimed the young woman's hand, then looked back to his boss.  "Romanov knows a woman who came out of the concentration camps?"

Control stared at him, then through him.  "Where is she?"

Kostmayer gestured with his head towards the exit. 

"I'll be back," Control promised.  He made his way out casually, a man with nothing more on his mind than a quiet cigar in the night air.

"What's going on?" Yvette demanded.

Mickey considered.  "Your new sister-in-law?  She's a little bit … psychic."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

Kostmayer laughed.  "I'm not.  I swear.  Ask Robert."

"I will."

"Do it."

"You better not be lying to me, Mickey."

"Or else what?" 

Yvette glanced around.  "Or else I'll tell Annie you kissed me in the park."

He considered this threat very seriously.  "Ask Robert," he finally said.

 ***

In the hallway outside the ballroom, Lily paced frenetically on the painfully short leash of the payphone cord. "No, I've already _been_ on hold for … what?  Yes, I know that, but I … yes, fine, go ahead." 

"Mrs. Nabakowski?" Control said.

Lily spun.  "She's dying," she said.  "She wants to see me.  If these assholes could get me on a flight …"

He touched her shoulder with one hand – cursing silently, for the millionth time, that he couldn't draw her any closer in public – and reached for the phone with the other.  "I'll handle it.  Go get changed." 

She blinked.  "You know I'm supposed to ship out …"

"I'll handle it," Control repeated firmly.  "Go on."

She relinquished the phone and sprinted out.  He watched, listening to the static on the phone, as she went out through the side door, the one marked in big letters, 'Alarm Will Sound.'  No alarm sounded, of course.  Wherever her car was parked, and it would be nearby, there would be a change of clothes in it.    

He listened to the silent phone for another moment, then clicked it off.  He glanced around, then dialed a number of his own. "It's Control," he said quietly.  "I need a flight."

 ***

Kay stared at the mirror in the bathroom, blotting her eyes with a damp paper towel.  She had promised herself she was not going to cry.  She'd nearly managed it.  It had been a near-perfect day. Then she'd heard someone talking about Yvette being Scott's half-sister, and suddenly it was all too much.

The girl – Romanov, not the bride – strode into the bathroom like she owned it.  She tossed a backpack into the corner, peeled out of her absurd little black dress.  In the mirror, Kay confirmed what she'd surmised about the minimal undergarments she wore.  She wadded the dress into a ball and slipped into a pair of jeans.

"Leaving so soon?"  Kay had meant it to come out conversational, but even to her it sounded snide.

"Yes."

There was a gentle rap on the door, and Control called, "Flight leaves at midnight.  You have a little time."

"Thank you," Lily called back.

Kay resumed blotting her eyes.  "Off to save the free world, I suppose."

"No."  The girl shrugged into a shirt.  "Off to say good-bye to the closest thing to a mother I ever had."

Kay turned.  "Oh.  I am so sorry.  I truly am."

"Thank you."  Lily flopped on the floor to put on her socks and sneakers.  "Could you do me a favor?  Tell Scott and Becky …"

"I'm sure they'll understand."  After a moment, Kay added, "I really haven't said thank you.  Everything you did for this wedding … I know we had our differences …"

The spy looked up at her, and for a moment she had Control's exact expression.  Then it passed; she merely shrugged.  She clambered to her feet and stuffed her dress and shoes into her backpack.  "I'm glad it went okay."

"It went beautifully."  She hesitated.  "I thought about what you said.  About Becky, about me.  You were right, of course.  Mostly.  And I … thank you for saying it.  I've tried to make amends … when they get back …"

The spy flung her pack over one shoulder.  "Good."

"It's funny," Kay continued.  "Even when we know better, we get into the habit of thinking we can fix things later.  When the truth is, there isn't always later.  When we have a chance to bring someone happiness, when we have a chance for love, we need to not wait."  She shrugged.  "Life can be short, and life can be cruel.  And you know that as well as I do."

Lily shifted her feet impatiently.  "What's your point?"

Kay glanced significantly towards the door.  "You love him.  Don't wait too long."

The young spy looked at her for a long moment.  She almost, almost smiled.  Then she put her hand on Kay's arm and squeezed gently.  "I don't know what you're talking about."

She shifted her bag and walked out.

 ***

Yvette caught the bride's bouquet and Jacob Stock caught the garter.  As tradition required, they shared the next dance.  Neither of them seemed at all reluctant.

Robert watched them warily as they danced too close and conversed too cheerily.  They looked good together.  Stock was solid, reliable, honorable in his way.  Despite his chosen profession, Yvette could do worse … and it would keep her in New York.

He shook his head.  Stock was leaving, soon, for the Balkans, probably for some time.  This romance, even if it began, had no chance of being more than a one-night stand. 

The notion made him acutely uncomfortable.

But Control was right.  Yvette was a beautiful young woman, and Manhattan was full of eligible young men.  She was bound to meet one or two. 

His wallet began to tingle at the notion of financing another wedding.     

 ***

From the shadows Control watched her leave.  Less than ten minutes, from the mysterious beauty in black to the anonymous scruffy urchin in jeans.   Once she left the Mercedes, she'd be invisible in this city, and most others. 

He wanted to go with her.

He wanted to tell the old woman good-bye.  To tell her thank you again, for giving safe harbor to his lady as a child.  To tell her that the world would be diminished when her strength and love were gone from it. 

And to hold Lily and comfort her, beside the ocean, when the old woman was gone.

It was impossible.  Even if he could leave the office, even for a day, it was impossible.

He watched her leave, and his heart went with her.  Heartless, his body turned back to work.

 ***

They sprinted through the shower of birdseed – which stung unexpectedly – and dove into the back of the limousine – the fourth classic vehicle of the day, this one black and half a block long.  Clarence closed the door behind them.  The partition was already up; the car eased away without a bump. 

They collapsed back, ignoring the damage to the tux and the wedding gown.  The grains of seed slid onto the leather seats.  "I'm exhausted," Scott said.

"Me, too," Becky agreed.  "But we got through it."

"With no bloodshed."

"It's a miracle."

The limo turned to the right.  "Where are we going?" Becky asked sleepily.

"I … thought we were going back to the apartment," Scott said.  Wearily, he leaned forward and rapped on the partition.  It slid partly open silently.  "Where are we going?"

"To the hotel," Clarence answered simply.

"I don't think we planned on any hotel."

"Not to worry, Mr. McCall.  It's all taken care of. "

"Oh.  Okay."  He sat back, then sat up again.  "By Lily?"

"No, sir."

"Then who …" 

The partition came up again.

"Well," Scott said. 

Becky squinted.  "Control.  I think."

They looked at each other.  "Eeeeek," Becky said.

 ***

"You're exhausted," Robert said.  "Go home."

Kay sighed.  "But there are still guests …"

"I'll stay," he promised. 

She nodded.  She was tired.  And sad.  "It was nice, wasn't it?"

"It was a beautiful wedding, Kay."

"I don't imagine I'll see much of him any more."

"Well, not for the next six months," Robert allowed, "but I suppose that's true of any newlywed."  She smiled wanly.  "He's still your son, Kay."

"And yours," she answered ominously.

"Yes."  And he would be in Europe with his new bride with a war starting just over the mountains – but every one of Control's people would be looking out for them.  "Yes, he is."

She sighed.  "Good night, Robert."

He hugged her quickly.  "Good night, Kay.  Get some rest.  You deserve it."

He gestured, and silent Walt came and took her arm.

When they were safely gone, he turned to look for Mira, and found her at his side.  "Well," she said, "you throw quite a shindig when you put your mind to it."

"Minds," he corrected gently.  Almost without thought, he drew her out onto the floor and into his arms.  The band had settled down some, drifted into ballads suitable for dancing.  "Many, many minds."

"I'm surprised any of you still have them.  Your minds."

Robert chuckled.  "I think if we hadn't all lost our minds, we never would have attempted this."

"Agreed."  After a moment, Mira said, "Do you think they feel slighted?  Scott and Becky, because I didn't help with the wedding?"

"No," Robert said, surprised.  "What makes you think that?"

She shrugged.  "I don't know.  During the ceremony, I got to thinking, I wonder if they expected me to participate more.  I mean, I can tie little bundles of birdseed as well as anybody."  

Robert shook his head.  "I don't think it ever crossed their minds.  I don't think they think we're – like that.  Not yet, anyhow."

"Ahh." 

"You sound disappointed."

"Relieved, actually.  Don't get me wrong, I like them both very much.  I just, frankly, can’t see myself as anyone's stepmother."

"So all this white lace and candles don't have you wishing I'd take a knee, is that it?"

Mira grinned.  "That is it precisely."

Robert sighed in mock disappointment.  "Well, all right, then.  Maybe another time.  When you like me a little better."

"I like you very well," Mira said, "just the way you are.  But if I lived with you, there would have to be changes made."

"On both our parts," he said, mindful of the perpetual ransacked condition of her apartment.

"Well … I suppose."

"And we are not … there."

"No.  I don't think so."

"Hmm."  Robert drew her closer and just danced.  He didn't know quite what to think, or to feel.  But honestly, relief was what he felt most.  He adored Mira, and his relationship with her, just the way things were.

"Still," Mira said against his ear, "I don't suppose there's any harm in practicing up, just in case."

"Practicing up?"

"For a possible wedding night."

Robert grinned at her.  "My dear Miranda, are you propositioning me?"

"Yes, Robert, I am."

"I'm shocked."

"Have you looked in a mirror, Robert?  In that tux, you could have any woman in this room.  Provided she was willing to come through me to get you."

He twinkled.  "Well."

She sighed and moved subtly closer.  "It's a shame you promised Kay you'd stay until all the guests left."

"It is.  Of course, I don't believe I promised I'd stay here in this hall."

"Oh?"

"It is a hotel, after all."

"Why, Robert, I believe you're propositioning me now."

He pursed his lips primly.  "No, I'm merely doing my best to accommodate a lady's request."

"Ever the accommodating one, aren't you?"

"When I can be, dear Mira.  When I can be."

 ***  

When they got to the lobby of the most expensive hotel in the city, Becky said "Eeeek" again.

They wandered through the suite, which was roughly five times the size of their apartment. Very suddenly, both of them felt like they were playing grown-ups, dressed up in a tux and a wedding dress in a room that dwarfed them both. 

"Can I put my jeans on?"  Becky said quietly.

"Do you have jeans here?"

She shrugged.  "Control booked the room.  What do you think?"

They went to the biggest bedroom and found their own clothes. "I think I should be freaked out," Scott said, carefully hanging up his tuxedo.

"I'm too tired to be freaked out," Becky answered.  "Buttons." 

She turned her back to Scott, and after a moment he realized what she wanted.  He started on the tiny fabric-covered buttons from the top. "Damn, how many of these things are there?"

"Fifty-seven."

He had musician's fingers, but still he struggled with them.  "You know, I can't see my dad being this patient," he said.

Becky giggled.

"What?"

"She said she didn't know."

"What?"

Becky laughed out loud.  "When we first got the dress out, half the buttons were in the bottom of the box, torn off.  She said she didn't know how that happened."

Scott laughed, too.  Then he bit the nape of her neck.  "You are so beautiful," he said.  "And I am so damned tired."

"I think we should have a late breakfast," Becky mused.

"Huh?"

"Late breakfast," she repeated.

"Ahh.  Got it."

"I need a shower."

"I need some real food."

She stepped out of the dress and they went their slightly separate ways.  But they met again a moment later.

Becky was staring at the shower.  It was huge and had ten showerheads.  It also had memories, one very specific.  So she wasn't surprised, really, when she turned and found her new husband standing behind her, clearly perplexed by what he had found in the kitchen.  "Why are there snow cones in the freezer?" he asked.   He had one in each hand.

She chuckled.  Then she reached behind her and turned on the shower – all ten heads.  "Get outta them jeans," she said, "and I'll show you."

 

The End


End file.
